


Amidst It All

by Kantrips



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, One Shot, One Shot Collection, One shots with flow, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-28 22:56:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 24,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15059633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kantrips/pseuds/Kantrips
Summary: Stolen moments between war and conflict in the slow, sometimes awkward, sometimes sweet and sometimes terrifyingly confusing progression of a relationship.





	1. Haven: Suspicious Elfroot Collecting

 Evelyn had left on foot not more than half an hour ago with no weapon, no companions and no goodbye. Cullen found himself pacing, distracted from the drills he had consigned the recruits too. Already there would be more bruises than usual the following morning, now that his inattention had led to rampant incidents of uncorrected posture and poor grips on shields.

She would have told someone something of what she was up to surely. She must have a good reason for setting off into the woods alone. But what?

Cassandra was nearby as usual and had had the most to do with the woman. She lowered her sword reluctantly at Cullen’s approach.

“Did she tell you where she was going?”

“Who has gone where?”

“Evelyn. Went into the woods.”

Cassandra let out an irritated grunt and refocused on her training dummy. “Into the woods then I imagine.”

If Cassandra was unconcerned Cullen supposed he should be too. But the question of what on earth she was up to continued to niggle at him, pestering him to the point of distraction.

Before he had even registered that he was doing it he had set out into the trees after her in a moment of uncharacteristic rashness. The boot prints in the snow weren’t difficult to follow, she had made no effort to conceal her tracks and he was upon her quickly. On the ground at the edge of the clearing, she was fussing with something at the base of a pine.

“Evelyn?” His voice carried loudly through the relative silence of the forest. She jumped a little, apparently not having heard him approach, and rose from her crouch, a bundle of greenery in her arms.

“Cullen?”

“Elfroot?”

“Yes?”

“You’re collecting Elfroot.” Of course there was a simple explanation.

“Yes, I am collecting Elfroot. As you see.” With the armful of herbs she gestured helpfully in his direction.

“Elfroot," he said once more, running a tired hand over his face.

“It is medicinal,” she explained with a patient smile as if to a simpleton.

“I am aware.”

There was a long silence and Cullen tried desperately to think of a way to leave that didn’t involve running. Evelyn shifted the herbs uncomfortably in her arms. “And you?” she asked.

“What?”

“Why are you roaming about the woods?”

“I simply…wanted to…” Cullen floundered for a reasonable explanation.

Evelyn rolled her eyes. “Let me guess: you just happened to be taking a stroll? You’ve stumbled across me quite by accident? My what a spectacular coincidence.”

“Not exactly.”

“No, I didn’t think so,” she said with such smug certainty that he felt his spine stiffen with irritation.

He folded his arms. “What precisely do you think?”

“A lot of things. Mostly about kittens and cakes. But in this particular instance I think you were following me.

“It would not serve me to be dishonest. I was.”

“Why? Was I sneaking away in broad daylight? The cunning mage, creeping through the trees, laughing to herself and rubbing her hands in glee at her own reprehensible plot?”

“That’s unfair.”

“You thought I was running away with no luggage but a cloak and a keen sense of adventure. _That’s_ unfair.”

He hadn’t really thought that, had he? It seemed pointless to argue at any rate. “I think you have very thoroughly demonstrated the foolishness of my actions already. I was concerned: the woods can be dangerous.”

Evelyn gave him a steady look. “I’m dangerous too,” she said with menacing calmness. Cullen frowned. Evelyn dissolved into laughter before putting on an exaggerated snarl, dropping the Elfroot to make her hands into claws. “The sneaky mage whooooo! Coming for your children in the night!”

Cullen shook his head and let out a breathy laugh despite himself. “Have you ever…”

“Ever what?”

“Ever held a single conversation in your life without resorting to the ridiculous?”

She looked pleased with herself. “Not yet.”

“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely.

“What for?” she asked, laughter fading, brow creasing.

“I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

“No, some templar instinct kicking in. Seeing a mage wandering about triggers your find-and-subdue mechanism I suppose.”

“I’m not a templar,” Cullen said with practised calm. Evelyn’s eyes widened slightly before her surprise melted into a look more thoughtful. Cullen braced for ridicule but there was no other response: no witty rejoinder or joke at his expense. “You’re a valuable asset to the Inquisition and I was surprised to see you setting out alone. I was curious, more than anything.”

Evelyn pointed to her own chest. “Me? A _valuable_ asset to the Inquisition? Goodness you do come on strong.” She fanned herself with her hand.

Cullen groaned. “You clearly wished for solitude: I will impose upon you no longer.”

“And surely you have recruits to go yell at?”

“I don’t yell at the recruits.”

“What do you call raising your voice and projecting it in their general direction then? Shouting?”

“I meant it isn’t just mindless yelling. I don’t shout: I instruct.”

“Loudly,” she said, drawing it out and smirking. Infuriating woman. Did she always have to have the last word?

“As you say then. I should return.”

“Once more: thank you.”

He had turned to leave but looking over his shoulder and saw her gathering up the Elfroot, using the corner of her cloak to form a bundle. “Of course.”

“For not _subduing_ me I mean.” He let out a long sigh in response. “I will see you later,” she told him cheerily.

“Very well.”

“Probably anyway. If I don’t, you know…” She mimed running on the spot.

“You’ll never let me live this down, will you?”

“Honestly I’m touched that you wanted to check up on me. Thank you, truly.”

“You’re welcome.”

“You could be right. It is dangerous out here. I think I saw squirrel tracks earlier.”

“I really am leaving.”

“Oh abandoning me just when I was starting to feel frightened of the woods!” she called after him. He threw up a hand, partly in surrender, partly to wave goodbye.  “Don’t worry, I’ll call you if I need you. ‘Help! Help! Your valuable asset needs help! I’m being attacked by a rogue sparrow! Argh, it’s tiny beak is upon me!’”

The sound of her giggling seemed to follow him further through the trees than was possible.

A mystery, she was a complete, baffling, frustrating mystery to him. One that he was in equal parts mildly afraid of and intrigued by.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this is both kind of overdue, and kind of spur of the moment. I have a whole big bunch of 'scenes' sitting written that I didn't quite know what to do with and I suddenly realised I could fill the gaps and make them into a kind of linear, one shot compilation. Thought I might as well get it over with and post rather than letting them languish any longer! I'm thinking of this as a kind of companion to 'Between the Lines' and there are a couple of allusions to that piece in later chapters but this can absolutely be read alone. Thanks so much for reading! :)


	2. Haven: Two Meetings and an Understanding

He was pacing back and forth at the opposite end of the room. Evelyn couldn’t tell if it truly was unconscious or if he was doing it for dramatic effect. She nudged Josephine and lowered her voice. “Is that normal? For him?”

Josephine’s quill stopped scratching for a moment, twitching feather growing still. “Hm?”

Evelyn gestured towards Cullen with her chin. “The pacing. Or is he losing his mind?”

“Oh, he gets like that when our meetings run long. Or when he hasn’t had a chance to exercise that day.”

“When he feels shut in and restless.”

“So it would seem,” Josephine said, already sounding suspicious.

“Like a dog?”

“That is not the comparison I would have drawn.”

“Is he about to start whining? Scratching at the door?”

“You’re being rather hard on him.” Cullen stopped at the table, scanned a document, muttered to himself, paced a few more steps then stared intently into the fire, his back to them.

“I’ve never had a chance to examine a templar in the wild. Fascinating creatures.”

Josephine let out a disapproving sigh. “Try to get along.”

“That sounds like a thinly veiled accusation.”

“You bait him. I’ve noticed. Leliana has noticed. _He_ has noticed.”

“Doesn’t stop him from rising to seize it.”

“You may be enjoying yourself but we need to work…” Josephine paused to think, looking towards the ceiling and tapping her chin gently with the end of her feathered quill.

“Yes?”

“Harmoniously,” Josephine finished with emphasis.

“I’ll be on my best behaviour. So long as he doesn’t do any templar-ing in my direction.”

“Impossible,” Cullen said abruptly, turning to them and making a slicing motion through the air. Josephine and Evelyn stared at him in bafflement: he couldn’t possibly have overheard their conversation. Could he? “Have they taken leave of their senses entirely?” When he still failed to garner a response from the two women before him he said: “What do you make of the letter? If he could only overcome his own self-interest momentarily to see the bigger picture… The Duke?” he finally prompted impatiently.

“What Duke?” Evelyn asked having lost track of the actual meeting in her studies of Cullen’s behaviour.

Cullen’s lip curled in irritation. “We have been discussing this already for…If I’m the only one actually trying to resolve anything here I would suggest we adjourn this meeting.”

“Forgive my inattention, Cullen. I am in negotiations with him and in the event that that fails, Leliana is seeking leverage against the man as we speak. Something we can hold against him if need be. It would not be my choice, but I can’t deny it may be the only way to deter his intervention.”

“The timing is appalling. It stretches our resources thin but I’ll have troops ready, should he march,” Cullen said with an air of finality. But Evelyn wasn’t done.

“Or if that too fails,” Evelyn said, “maybe I could go around to his manor and summon a few demons? You know, _spook_ him into acquiescence.”

Cullen straightened his back gave her a stern look. “That is hardly something to jest about.”

Evelyn matched his stance and nodded approvingly. “Correct response: that was a test. Just making sure.”

Cullen folded his arms and Evelyn mirrored him. She saw his jaw clench. “Whatever you are hoping to accomplish –”

“We shall adjourn, good suggestion Cullen. I think we are finished here. Evelyn?” Josephine interrupted, addressing Evelyn with a vaguely threatening tone.

“Quite finished.” She smiled angelically at them both and left the room on what was nearly a pirouette.

Mind already wandering to lunch, Evelyn hadn’t expected Cullen to catch up to her as she left the chantry. Responding to his voice calling her name with a: “What?” so startled it gave away more than she would of liked, she attempted to regain some composure, bracing for an argument.

But he didn’t seem angry which only threw her further off balance. “I know what you’re doing,” he said, sounding resigned.

“And what am I doing?”

“Trying to taunt a reaction out of me.”

“You specifically? I’m sorry you feel singled out but I really am this irritating to everyone.”

To her infinite surprise he exhaled with the slightest chuckle. Thoroughly confused by this whole interaction and his unpredictable behaviour Evelyn began to leave. Flee even. But he spoke once more. “I don’t find you irritating. Just challenging. Wait a moment. Please.” She paused, still disliking the lack of control she had over the conversation, intrigued and concerned over where exactly this was going. “I don’t blame you for feeling antagonised by my past. Words of assurance or beseeching you too look beyond it would be useless I realise. But allow me the opportunity to…I hope that given a chance my actions will speak for themselves.”

Evelyn felt heavy with unexpected guilt in the face of this sudden earnestness and found herself staring at her boots, unable to meet his eye. “I’ll admit I’ve been a little difficult around you. I suppose I’m just curious as to your motivations.” She forced herself to look up at him but now he looked away, staring at something past her shoulder.

 “Motivations? Similar to yours I’d imagine: I’d rather not see Thedas pulled inside out through a gaping hole in the sky,” he said with a shrug.

He was…making a joke? She couldn’t fight back a smile. “It seems like we have some common ground to work from after all.” She meant it in a broader sense which by his relieved expression he clearly picked up on.

“Good.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“What for?”

“For not judging me as harshly as I have obviously been judging you.”

“As I said: you have reason to be wary. I understand that.”

“As do you. What of me proving my motivations to you?”

Meeting her eye he said without hesitation: “You were willing to sacrifice your life to close the breach when everyone around you falsely accused you of creating it. You have nothing left to prove to me.” Then cleared his throat and looked away again.

“Oh,” was all she managed to answer after a long pause.

He looked with almost longing up at a small patch of sky visible through one of the high chantry windows. “If you don’t mind my abrupt departure: I’m desperate to go for a walk. I find those meetings suffocating.”

“By all means,” she gestured towards the door and watched him leave, troubled by a peculiar state of agitation as if she had a puzzle half complete and was already pretty sure she was missing a piece.


	3. Haven: Sleepless

It was late, too late for him to be sleeplessly wandering outside the walls, let alone her. She cut a lonely figure on the Haven dock, her lamp casting an orange glow around her while she stood as still as the frozen lake that she gazed upon. He felt drawn to that lamp light, to her, and approached without really considering his actions.

His approaching footsteps, crunching through the new fallen snow, were enough to announce his presence. Evelyn put her lamp at her feet and quickly swiped at her cheeks, a motion that he was clearly not meant to notice. “How odd,” she said, a bit too loudly, a bit too cheerfully when she realised it was him. “Whenever I can’t sleep at night I see candlelight from your quarters and now here you are. Can it be that the fates have conspired that our restless nights should align perfectly? Or is it that you simply never sleep?”

Cullen shrugged and joined her, leaning against the dock railing. “Either could be true,” he said noncommittally. Conversations about his disturbed sleep could lead into dangerous territory. There were topics he did not wish to breach, not with her, not now.

“I suspect the latter.”

“I guess we’ll never know for sure.”

“You will, but clearly you have no intention of telling me.”

“So it seems."

They fell into silence, both looking out over the lake, weak moonlight glinting off the ice, shadowy pines looming at its perimeter. Despite the peaceful night landscape, Cullen’s mind was working desperately through a set of increasingly complicated rationalisations. Evelyn had tried to hide that she was upset, so it would be civil to pretend he hadn’t noticed. He would say nothing. But it was also true that it felt callous to notice, and then ignore her distress, even if his intent was to be discrete. So he _should_ say something. But was it then _more_ callous to notice her distress, notice she didn’t want to be asked about her distress, and then interrogate her regardless?

“Is there something on your mind?” she asked suddenly without looking at him.

“What?”

“You keep glancing at me. Did I dip my braid in my soup again? Maker I wish people would mention it when it happened.” She reached out reflexively and touched her hair to check.

Well, it was an opening and Cullen suspected her wouldn’t get a better one. “Are you alright? Something was troubling you when I approached.”

“Troubling me?” she asked in an exaggerated, theatrical voice that he was beginning to recognise as a sophisticated and well-practiced defence mechanism. “Why I was merely in awe of the beauty of the landscape! The wonders of nature, so touching. It moves me truly.”

“I see,” he answered evenly neither encouraging, nor discouraging the ruse.

She let out a shaky sigh. “Either that or that or all my friends died at the conclave, my hand now glows and closes sky rifts. Also there are sky rifts? What is that about? And suddenly I’m meant to be out there accomplishing things for the greater good when only months ago no one would have entrusted me to coordinate so much as a piss-up in a tavern.” There was a pause in which she took a deep breath. “So the beauty of nature or overwhelming, crippling self-doubt in the face of chaos. One of the two,” she finished lightly.

“I suspect the latter,” he said, echoing her earlier words.

She turned to smile at him. “I guess we’ll never know for sure.”

Cullen hesitated. “The conclave was a tragedy. And that you as a victim of it have had to wear the blame was -”

“I’ve worn worse. When I was seven I demanded a bright yellow frock for the Midsummer Festival. It did nothing for my skin tone. Washed me right out. Blame on the other hand? No, blame quite suits me.” Cullen leaned back as if to peer around her. “What? What is it? What are you doing?” she asked.

“I was looking to see if there was a serious side to you. For a moment there I thought I glimpsed it.”

“Ha. You’ll have to look harder than that.”

“I swear you work twice as hard as anyone in the Inquisition: both in the field and in hiding what you’re going through.”

She scoffed in objection. “As if I’m the only one in the Inquisition hiding things.”

Now that he certainly couldn’t argue with. “All I’m saying is don’t underestimate the burden of…” he struggled for the wording, “keeping up a brave face.”

“And stoicism comes naturally to you does it? Don’t answer that. We both know I don’t have a choice. None of us do.”

She scrubbed roughly at her face with the heel of her hand. Too roughly. He wanted to take her wrist, tell her to stop but instead he said: “You’re doing well.”

“Keeping up a brave face?”

“Working for the Inquisition.”

“It doesn’t feel like it. The more certain I am about any given course of action the more awry it seems to go.”

Cullen considered this carefully. “Nothing ever has an entirely neat solution.”

“It makes me wonder what the point of trying is sometimes. I try to make things better and I make them worse.”

“That’s not true.”

“Sometimes it is.”

“I believe our intentions hold as much importance as the results we achieve.”

“Oh? So I should never have to explain myself beyond ‘I meant well’?”

“We must take responsibility for the outcomes of our actions. Part of that is justifying our motivations. You’re restoring order, you’re saving lives and doing a lot of good along the way.”

“I’ve done a lot of harm along the way.”

“Some humility is essential. Too much self-flagellation can be crippling.”

“And is that something you templars are very keen on is it? Self-flagellation?”

“I’m not -” he began, the response coming almost automatically now.

“No, you’re not. That was careless of me: I forgot myself.”

He frowned, more in confusion than true irritation. Evelyn seemed genuinely apologetic, but she had raised his previous rank in conversation to tease him so often in the past it was difficult to tell if it had been a sincere slip or not. “If anything, the templars have traditionally lacked self-reflection. Grievously. In my opinion…,” he said, voice trailing off at the end.

Evelyn didn’t seem to know how to respond to that so made a humming noise and leant her elbows on the dock railing, resting her chin in her hands. “So what you’re saying over all is that if I burn down a village it’s absolutely fine as long as my intention was to warm everybody up? Fight off that winter chill and keep them nice and toasty?”

“Not exactly,” he said before adding a dry: “Obviously.”

“No, I know what you’re saying. And I thank you for it.” Evelyn titled her head and smiled at him and Cullen felt an urgent need to turn away and examine the horizon.

“I seem to have a gift for disturbing you when you want to be alone.” He pushed away from the railing.

“I never said I wanted to be alone.” He faltered, then resumed his position beside her. “Oh, don’t look so frightened,” she told him. “You don’t pester me like some of the others do: I appreciate that.”

Minutes passed, and Cullen gazed out where she did, wondering what held her attention, wondering what burdened her mind. Neither of them spoke until he noticed Evelyn shivering. “It is too cold. You should go inside, try once more to get some rest,” he said softly. When she didn’t react, he wondered if she’d heard him. “Evelyn?” he gently touched her elbow and feeling her jerk in response withdrew his hand quickly. She seemed almost surprised to see him there.

“Yes,” was all she said and for a moment he wasn’t sure whether it was a question or not. But she gave a him a quick smile, wrapped her cloak tightly about herself and walked towards the gate without further comment, disappearing into the night as if she had urgent business to attend to, leaving her lantern still glowing at his feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter in which our heroes have a _conversation_? How incredible!!! How fresh! When will I run out of ideas? Can you tell I love writing dialogue? :p Thanks for reading!


	4. Haven: The Attack

Evelyn couldn’t remember much of the attack on Haven and perhaps that was for the best.

There were flashes: celebrations coming to an abrupt halt, songs cut short mid-verse, laughter fading and newly poured drinks left untouched.

 At the alarm adrenaline had surged through Evelyn’s veins, her senses growing sharper and combat ready in a way that she was unexpectedly becoming used to. Any anxiety was tempered by a readiness. An eagerness even.

In hindsight, it was obvious she had grown dangerously accustomed to winning. Sure, the odds seemed impossible on the surface but that was kind of the Inquisition’s speciality. Something would turn up, something to shift the course of the battle in their favour. It always did.

The blind optimism had lasted right until Cullen had all but spat: “At this point, just make them work for it,” and she realised he had given up hope. Inquisition soldiers swarmed and stumbled around them in blind terror towards the Chantry, Cullen looking on with the stoicism of a pall-bearer.

Her expression must have given away her fresh panic. Cullen turned to say something else to her but stopped himself, mouth opening and closing wordlessly. How was he to know that Evelyn’s own confidence was apparently linked so intrinsically to his? Were her voice not utterly failing her in that moment she would have told him that is was okay, that she preferred to be realistic. If they were all going to die better she know it now. The fear subsided and she had felt her emotions shift again. Quite a night: ignorant confidence, suffocating dread and finally a timely pragmatism. It allowed her to distance herself from the danger she was walking into while the dregs of Haven’s survivors limped to safety.

They must have thought her brave when really she was just completely disconnected from the reality of the situation. Evelyn’s path was clear, and detached as she was from her own body in that moment it was remarkably easy to face her fate. Was that a kind of courage? That her mind protected itself only so far as to allow her to act as she must to protect the others? If her mind truly wanted to protect itself surely it would have instructed her legs to start running and never stop as Varric had once suggested. Perhaps she owed herself some credit. After all: she was the girl so afraid of the dark that she cried when her father said she couldn’t sleep with a lit candle, screamed bloody murder when her foot brushed a reed while bathing in the river, wouldn’t enter a farmstead until the barking dog was leashed.

Now she faces down dragons. What a difference a conclave explosion makes. Had she the energy to spare she would have laughed. Evelyn knew her life depended on focusing on the task at hand. At that moment that meant prising herself up from the cold ground from where she had fallen, not laying there self-reflecting. Courage did little to combat freezing to death.

Truth be told she was worried that moving would reveal she had broken something crucial in the fall. As long as she remained still she could pretend she was okay. She began exploratory flexing: gently, gradually, limb by limb.

 _“Perhaps you will surprise it, find a way.”_ Those had been Cullen’s words. She had been touched by the obvious lie when he clearly thought her imminent death as certain as she did. Unless he truly had some hope: a faith in the impossible? In her? In saying _“find a way”_ had he meant ‘collapse a mountain upon your own head and hurl yourself down a disused mineshaft’? Probably not, but nonetheless, there she was alive: bones surprisingly not shattered. Head throbbing, calf muscle twinging, wrist tender but nothing broken.

No. Too quick of an assumption it had turned out. Sitting up quickly brought on shooting pains in her torso. A rib or two at least. She sacrificed a bit of magic. To take the edge off only, none must go to waste. Ahead was blackness and uncertainty. But first a quick rest. Laying down for just a few minutes. Or longer?

Getting up again had felt suddenly crucial. Evelyn’s head swam from the motion, prickles of white light distorting her vision. She was on her feet, leaning against the wall for support and couldn’t quite remember how she got there. She must have hit her head. Perhaps a few times. That would explain the throbbing.

Then a shock of encountering demons, a flash of green light (had she done that?) and she was somewhere else in the tunnel. Evelyn knew she must be running on the basest survival instinct because she kept losing blocks of time but was still miraculously inching forward. Outside now. A cold campfire here. Keep going. The same direction? Wind so strong it altered her path, sent her staggering this way and that. A broken wagon? Might have been there for years for all she knew. People in the distance, she thought, but only scraggly pines, outlines made blurry by the falling snow. An understandable mistake, she had tried to rationalise, rather than admitting she was getting desperate.

Her boots were sinking deeper into the snow with each step and she kept pitching forward and nearly falling. Starting out Evelyn thought she had an idea of what way the others must have gone but now the weather was so thick it blotted out the vaguely familiar mountain ranges, the stars, the moon and all possible reference points. Maker she hoped she was walking in the right direction. Maker she hoped there _was_ a right direction. The only testament to the survival of the others she had was the solitary flare hours ago. Days ago? No, she couldn’t have been unconscious that long for the cold surely would have killed her. That was comforting. Sort of.

Evelyn recited as much of the Chant of Light as she could remember, unable to hear her own voice over the wind. It was less of a prayer, more a distraction. In the same manner she tried to recall poems she used to have read to her as a child. The nug that dug? How did it go…?

That story about her in the river, frightened by the reed wrapped around her ankle, scrabbling up a sheer rock face to try and escape. Shrieking while her siblings splashed to the shore panicked and thinking she must have been bitten by a turtle at the very least. Why had she never told Cullen that story? He would have liked that one. And come to think of it why hadn’t she taken that last piece of blackberry pie offered to her not long before Haven came under attack? Or taken the time to think of some better final regrets? The pie though…

Distracting herself in this manner of thinking became unsustainable, the cold ache of her body growing too insistent as the magic she was using to sustain and protect herself in these inhospitable conditions began flickering, faltering…it was then the bargaining had begun. _‘Get to that tree stump,’_ she had told herself. _‘Get to that tree stump and you can have a rest.’_ But when she arrived level with the stump she would find herself thinking _‘now to that rock…just a little more’_ and on she went, bit by bit, working her way up a hill. An outcrop ahead had become her new goal, perhaps it would prove sheltered enough to afford some true respite from the weather.

Cresting the hill Evelyn blinked rapidly to assure herself she wasn’t suffering from hypothermia induced hallucinations. Campfires, tents and people pacing far below. Before she had even had time to process this impossibility, a group rushed towards her. Evelyn couldn’t see his face clearly, nor could she make out what he said but she recognised Cullen’s voice and relief drained the strength from her trembling legs as she fell to her knees.

He was at her side, asking her if she could walk, not waiting for an answer before lifting her out of the snow. Limp and unprotesting she wrapped her arms around his neck, turning to bury her face in his shoulder to protect it from the wind.

“I’m cold,” she managed to mumble stupidly through half-frozen lips.

“I know,” he said and then, with that assurance, Evelyn felt her muscles slacken and everything went black again.

The next thing she remembers is being woken by Cullen spitting a particularly vicious “Move,” at some bystanders gawking at the edge of the camp. Jumping a little at the volume and his tone, Cullen must have realised he startled her and said more quietly: “We’re at the camp,” which was a blatantly obvious statement but Evelyn assumed was his attempt at being reassuring.

Then she was being lowered onto a rickety camp bed and Mother Giselle was using an excessively soothing voice that confirmed to Evelyn that she really must be quite a mess. For some unknowable reason this provoked her to argue “I’m fine,” which in turn prompted an audible sigh from Cullen who Evelyn suddenly realised was bent over her, gently trying to detach himself from her grip around his neck.  Reluctantly she released him. He was warm. The first warm thing in hours. The first warm thing in what felt like forever. How dare he remove himself.

Cullen surveyed Evelyn critically as she sat up, shivering violently, flexing her stiff fingers to assure herself they still worked. “She’s freezing,” he said, turning to Mother Giselle and gesturing at Evelyn almost angrily. What exactly he expected the Chantry Mother to do until the healer arrived Evelyn wasn’t sure but he seemed insistent _something_ start happening which she appreciated.

Responding with only a distracted tut, Mother Giselle began to help Evelyn unbutton her sodden jacket, speaking softly as if to herself while Cullen watched on impatiently: “So many lost. And too many injured, too few supplies salvaged. If the elfroot wasn’t growing here…Lucky to have the shelters but clean bandages are scarce and not enough blankets to go around -”

Someone outside called Cullen’s name interrupting Mother Giselle’s troubled muttering.

“Take this,” Cullen said, shrugging off his cloak and offering it to Mother Giselle, striding away before he could be argued with.


	5. Haven: The Aftermath

Even now it plagued him. He had been a fool to let his composure slip when people were depending on him, when _she_ was depending on him. As a Commander it was his place to project unshakeable resoluteness. To lead by example not fall into a swoon like a Val Royeaux noble. He had faltered, that was clear from Evelyn’s disappointed expression at the time and it was not an error he intended to repeat.

It seemed he had grown unused to people depending on him. How had that happened? Was he so jaded by experience it was compromising his professionalism? Or could the drain of lyrium withdrawal be already proving greater than his resolve? He shook his head as if to clear it of the thought.  Whatever the reason it needed to change: he needed to remember his responsibilities if the Inquisition was to survive.

Already it was a miracle they had survived the attack on Haven earlier that night. That night? It was disconcerting to think of it having been so recent: it already felt a lifetime ago. They must have been waiting months, weeks at least to see if she had survived. Not mere hours surely.

Cullen’s gaze fell to Evelyn, relaxed at last in sleep, curled contently on the camp bed as if it were equipped with down pillows and the finest silk sheets. Her exhaustion must be absolute. If they had not found her when they did, only minutes from the camp…

It was a troubling thought, one that made him feel uneasy at the pit of his stomach, but he did not believe it. Evelyn would have made it on her own had she needed to: as persistent, as unwaveringly determined she had already proven herself to be. He was starting to believe she could take flight if she wanted it badly enough.

What an image. Maker, when had he become so fanciful? Relief and fatigue had made him ridiculous.

And that confirmed it for him. He was in no rational mind to be attempting to decide the future of the Inquisition. None of them were. Yet lingering adrenaline and mutual worry kept bringing them together to bicker until the argument stagnated and at least one of the party had stormed off. It had been his turn apparently, throwing up his hands in surrender, the healer’s tent proving too quiet, too sheltered and peaceful to resist. Yes, it was the relative solitude of the tent that had drawn him here. Checking on Evelyn was as good as an afterthought. A largely redundant one too, as what information could his untrained eye possibly draw from seeing her. Alive or dead was about the best a soldier could do.

Evelyn moved in her sleep. She stretched slightly and winced, face creasing in apparent pain, before she relaxed and lay still once more. Cullen shifted uneasily on his stool, suddenly realising he had been staring at her, and fixed his gaze on the wall of canvas instead. He let out a long breath and kneaded the muscles in his thighs with the heels of his hands, stiff from the strain of the fight and the hours of cold. He shouldn’t be sitting still like this either he should be…doing something.

And there again, the thought that had been marching in circles about his head reared once more to the forefront of his mind. Had his failing tonight been far greater than revealing a brief lack of composure when all hope had seemed lost? Perhaps his true lapse been somewhere in the field: an order he had given or not given, an opportunity left unexploited that might have changed the course of the battle and spared lives, not to mention prevented Evelyn from ever having to place herself in such a position of sacrifice. Or perhaps it was not during the battle but an inadequacy in his training methods over the months that left soldiers vulnerable, or some flaw in Haven’s defences he should have recognised that would have slowed the seemingly endless tide of red templars and bought them time. There must have been something, something he had overlooked, something more he could have done.

Evelyn’s cheeks were rosy now, flushed with colour from the warmth of the tent. She had been so frighteningly cold when he had picked her up from the snow. He could remember the feeling of her violent bursts of shivering against his chest, her icy fingers on the back of his neck as she searched for purchase…he was staring at her again. He tipped his head back and averted his eyes to the roof of the tent this time.

Cullen had already tried to speak Cassandra, someone he thought would have insight, and would understand the necessity of urgently examining the Inquisition’s defensive and military shortcomings. But she had grunted with displeasure and told him: “Now is not the time.” And then more kindly after a long moment of consideration: “Given the circumstances, the outcome could have been worse. It would be unconstructive to attempt to pinpoint one responsible factor.”

He could not have disagreed more. Cullen had failed to recognise his true responsibilities before in his life and he did not intend to let the Inquisition fall victim to his hubris in the same way. A comprehensive analysis of every aspect of the battle would be required from the condition of the weapons and armour, to the materials of the barricades, to the effectiveness of the watch and every other matter which may reveal inadequate preparation. There would be no detail too small to escape his scrutiny. Though Haven was lost there was much to be learned moving forward and every lesson could prove crucial to their survival.

He would have begun the work that moment, were his brain not so fogged from lack of sleep. Cullen’s gaze fell to Evelyn once more, her expression untroubled, her plait coming loose, strands mussed across the pillow and falling over her face. Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to eases the persistent tension behind his eyes. He had to concentrate. To try to figure this out. He had to fix it. Whatever ‘it’ was that had lead to her grievous endangerment could not be allowed to…he would not allow it to –

“Keeping her company, I see?” Mother Giselle had returned.

“Hardly. She’s asleep,” Cullen said more gruffly than he had intended, defensive at having been startled by the woman’s arrival.

“Nonetheless…” she said and trailed off with an enigmatic smile before busying herself with the blankets of another patient and pouring them a cup of water.

Cullen felt conspicuously unhelpful and with the sanctuary of the tent destroyed by Mother Giselle’s well-meaning presence he rose to leave, glancing down at Evelyn one final time to reassure himself that she was…that she was there. He let out a short laugh of relief, so quiet Mother Giselle didn’t register it. Despite his shortcomings she was alive, and he didn’t intend to fail her – _the Inquisition_ \- again.


	6. Skyhold: Melee Essentials

Though she personally had no idea what he was doing (never mind _why_ ) it obviously wasn’t completely random. Evelyn rationalised that there must be some method in the madness.

 Not so long ago she would have assumed all combat training of this kind was just an elaborate form of anger management. But having taken some opportunities to watch him training since the move to Skyhold, Evelyn had noticed that he wasn’t just striking out erratically. Instead, Cullen would give the training dummy several measured blows then pause as if to reassess before commencing again: hitting in a different pattern or adjusting his footing.

Cullen shifted his stance, turning slightly and caught a glimpse of her, doing a doubletake then hesitating, his thought process clearly interrupted.

“Don’t let me stop you,” Evelyn yelled apologetically before leaning on the fence of the training yard to continue watching. Disappointingly however, her presence seemed to deter him, or at least signal an opportunity for a break. Breathing deeply, he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand before walking to join her at the railing. He rested his back against it so that they were taking in the same view.

“Was there something you needed?” he asked, tossing his sword casually from hand to hand a few times as if to weigh it before leaning it against the fence. From anyone else Evelyn would have assumed it was showing off but she had observed Cullen enough to know it was just a habit.

“No, nothing. Just picking up some tips.” He shot her a sceptical look. Or you know, maybe she was curious to see if he would take his shirt off again like once before when she stumbled across him training here. As if reading her mind and to taunt her, he plucked at the fabric a few times where it had stuck to his chest.

“Considering a foray into melee, are you?”

Evelyn mimed retching. “Hardly. I’ve always thought the prospect so undignified. Looking people right in the eye, hearing their flesh tear, bones break, smelling their blood. Not for me. I prefer zapping from a civilized distance. Just personally.”

“A bit precious of you, Lady Evelyn,” Cullen teased. Evelyn rolled her eyes at him but he had lapsed into a thoughtful silence and seemed not to notice her. “What would you do then, if an enemy was upon you? Or in a situation where you were somehow rendered unable to cast?”

“Call for Cassandra,” Evelyn answered as if it were obvious.

“And if she were out of earshot?”

“Call louder?”

“Evelyn, be serious a moment. This could be cause for concern. The demons from the rifts spawn erratically. Templars will aim to ambush you. Beasts will stalk you. Mages can be unpredictable. It is only a matter of time before you find yourself flanked. There are countless scenarios in which you could find yourself vulnerable.” He reeled of the scenarios with such precision she wondered if he had rehearsed it.

She tilted her head and looked at him with exasperation. “I don’t know what you expect me to say, Cullen. Kick them in the shins?”

Cullen appeared to ponder this as he began to roll up his sleeves. “It isn’t a bad starting point, depending on the circumstances.”

“It was a joke! Honestly, if you are trying to convince me I am incompetent it’s working.”

Cullen looked alarmed and turned to her. She stared defiantly back. “That was not my intention.” He continued to look thoughtfully at her for a moment. “Maybe it should be. There is considerable risk in your being unprepared.”

“I’m managing,” Evelyn mumbled, looking away, disgusted by how petulant she suddenly sounded.

“Of course,” he said with reassuring sincerity. “But our enemies grow only stronger and I would like to know you were equipped with every possible advantage. You’re always the first to admit you weren’t trained for a life of combat.”

“True enough. But what exactly are you getting at? That I should hold Cassandra’s hand at all times in the field to ensure we are not separated? Honestly, I’m not convinced she will tolerate it. My palms can get a bit clammy.”

“What if I…I could run through some fundamentals with you. I wouldn’t expect you to start doing daily drills with the recruits but any basics may help you defend yourself, buy some time in an emergency.”

“Until Cassandra comes to save me?”

“Yes,” he said with a brief laugh. “Until Cassandra comes and brutalises them all.”

Evelyn thought for a long moment, wavering. “You may find me unteachable.”

Cullen looked undeterred. “Some of the recruits have been challenging. We will figure something out.”

Evelyn jabbed a finger at him. “If you yell at me I will leave. And fire you. Seriously. Both from your role in the Inquisition and I will actually set you on fire. I’m not doing this if you start yelling.”

He put a closed fist over his heart and fought back a smile. “You have my word. Shall we begin?”

“What? Right now?”

“If you have nothing more pressing to attend to?”

Evelyn climbed over the fence ungracefully, pretending not to see the hand he offered.

“So um, where do we start?” she asked, tugging at her tunic self-consciously.

He gave her an evaluating look which didn’t help the matter. “Your stance.”

Evelyn scoffed. “Are you trying to tell me that the enemy will run in fear if I _stand_ intimidatingly at them?”

“Not exactly. But it might make them think twice and it will make you harder to knock over.”

“How so?”

He took a step to one side of her and swiftly thrust a leg out, somehow hooking it behind her knees, not causing any pain but making it impossible not to topple heavily backwards into the soft dirt. After a moment on her back in shock induced paralysis, Evelyn glared up at him. Cullen looked down impassively and shrugged. “I didn’t yell.”

Evelyn sat up. “Okay,” she said in surrender. “You obviously know what you’re doing. I promise I won’t keep questioning every little thing you tell me.”

“Good, that will save us some time.” Cullen offered her a hand to help her up and this time she took it. Once upright, he seemed to hold on for just a moment too long. Probably to make sure she was steady on her feet, Evelyn rationalised.

She brushed herself off. “So, my stance?” she asked seriously and Cullen looked immeasurably pleased.


	7. Skyhold: Headache

Evelyn looked so genuinely delighted to see him he wondered if he was imagining it. But she had been walking by, seemingly glimpsed him from the corner of her eye, and nearly tripped over in her haste to alter course, beaming all the while. His imagination could only be credited with so much.

“Hello Cullen,” she waved in greeting as she approached his bench. “Not like you to be lazing about in the sun.”

A pounding headache had come upon him sometime after midday and leaving the stuffy confines of his office, he had ventured out to see if some fresh air would do him good. Not, as it turned out. “I didn’t realise you were arriving back today,” he said, concentrating on keeping his tone neutral, voice even

“I’ve barely just dismounted. Josephine wants to see me urgently but I was trying to slip to the kitchen first. I’ll surely perish if I have to wait all the way until supper.”

Cullen managed a weak smile. “I’m sure Josephine could order you a tray.”

“Josie means well, but she would order chilled tea, wafers and daintily cut fruits. I need an entire loaf of bread, something dead and roasted and at least half a wheel of cheese. And honestly I don’t particularly feel making her watch while I gnaw at it: she deserves better.”

He nodded. “Understandable.” Evelyn continued to hover by him uncertainly and for the first time of their acquaintance Cullen desperately wished she would just hurry up and leave. “I have lingered here too long already,” he said, “and I shouldn’t keep you if Josephine requires your presence.”

“Your office is on my way to the kitchen,” she said, clearly intending to walk with him. Any other day he would have been thrilled. Any. Other. Day.

“Very well,” he answered curtly. Evelyn could see he wasn’t pleased and at once the smile fell from her face. Cullen felt sick to see it. He rose with considerable effort, trying to make it look unforced, trying to hide the way it made his head throb and his vision blur, the world fading and swimming before his eyes.

“You look awful,” she said, slightly aghast, and instinctively reached out to steady him.

“I thought they raised nobles to be polite.” Cullen shrugged away her attempt to help and she quickly released her grip on his arm.

“Alright then. You look like you got clubbed over the head and dragged behind a horse down a cobblestone road.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Was that supposed to be better?”

Evelyn shrugged. “Don’t look at me: I got hauled off to the circle before I graduated from ‘noble lady training’ remember?” She shook her head as if to shake off the trail of thought. “Don’t try to change the subject: what’s wrong with you?”

“Just a headache.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps it wasn’t a good idea to repeatedly bang my head against a stone wall earlier,” Cullen snapped.

Evelyn’s brows shot up. “And you say I’m the sarcastic one? Fine, it was a stupid question.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, and meant it.

“No don’t apologise. You’re in pain, you have a right to be prickly when people bother you.”

“You’re not bothering me I’m –”

“Cullen, it’s fine. I’ll see you back to your office. Please, for my own peace of mind.”

Cullen didn’t object, just followed, as it was clear it would be impossible to dissuade her. At his door, a message runner approached him but before he could open his mouth to speak Evelyn was shooing the man away. “Not now! The Commander and I have business. Go!” She gestured for Cullen to go inside.

“That might have been important.”

“Your _wellbeing_ is important.”

“It’s not as bad as you are making out.”

“It looks pretty bad. Go and rest. I mean it: you should lay down. Your work will keep for one day, once in a blue moon.”

Cullen supressed a cynical response that would have given away the frequency of his headaches. Like a mabari with a bone she would have wanted to know what caused them in the interest of providing help. There was no need to trouble her over his lyrium withdrawals. She had enough to contend with. “Josephine is waiting for you,” he said instead.

Evelyn folded her arms. “Go and rest.”

“You won’t have time to eat anything if you don’t leave now.”

“Rest,” she told him once more, firmly, before leaving, making sure to close the door quietly.

Inside, Cullen let out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose again in an attempt to relieve some tension, and began to shuffle through the papers on his desk. He should get back to work and try not to think about how badly that had gone. There was a report from Scout Harding who had made little progress in Crestwood. He scratched out a reply instructing her to forgo any further progress and to make camp in the most suitable location they could find to await the Inquisitor’s arrival. Where had he put that map of the region? Was the headache affecting his memory now? As if the pain were not enough and now Evelyn had witnessed him…pathetically feeble. Not to mention hostile. What must she think?

Cullen put his face in his hands, then rubbed his temples, unsuccessfully trying to relieve the throbbing pressure in skull. He needed to push on. The least he could do was keep on top of his work.

Evelyn appeared, framed in his doorway and carrying a tray not ten minutes later. Cullen jumped in guilty surprise.

“What now?” he asked, more rudely than intended.

She tutted a little. “You have a funny definition of ‘laying down’.”

“I made no promise. I’m perfectly alright.”

“What is the point of being Inquisitor if people don’t obey my commands?”

“I have things I need to attend to. If it was your intention to catch me in the act of doing my job you have succeeded.” Cullen hated how cold he was being towards her but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. To his surprise, instead of turning heel and leaving she walked to his desk and placed the tray down.

“Drink this.” She pointed at the little silver teapot as if it wasn’t obvious what she was referring to.

“Am I to be poisoned for my insubordination?”

Undeterred she began to reel off ingredients. “Feverfew, ginger, cinnamon and elfroot. A little liquorice root too: I know sometimes a nausea comes with the worst of headaches.”

“You made me tea?”

“Yes, in a teapot. With hot water and everything. The breadth of my talents truly is astonishing.”

The teapot looked innocent enough but Cullen narrowed his eyes with deeply ingrained suspicion. “Did you cast on it?”

Her lips tightened and she gave him a peevish look. “No. I don’t use magic on people without their permission.”

“What about in combat?”

Evelyn took a deep breath and released it again in a slow, measured fashion. “Obviously I don’t ask people’s permission before I set them on fire in combat. Are _we_ in combat?”

“I feel like we are about to be if I don’t stop disagreeing with you.”

“You’re more perceptive than I give you credit for. It’s just herbs.”

“And they will…?”

“It may provide some relief.” Cullen continued to stare at it with scepticism.  Truth be told his head was aching with increasing ferocity and a persistent ringing had started in his ears. ‘Some relief’ sounded incredible. Evelyn suddenly put her hands on the table and leaned towards him, expression concerned. “You’re pale.” He glowered at her, self-conscious under her scrutiny but she ignored it, continuing to study him. “It would provide _more_ relief if I _did_ cast on it.”

“I may…” he started haltingly, “I would welcome that,” he finished, voice barely above a whisper.

Deftly, her hand glowed the blue of a hot flame and she briefly touched the side of the teapot. “Now drink,” she snapped bossily, pouring some of the steaming liquid into the accompanying cup.

“Another command.”

“I doubt I could force you to do anything you truly didn’t want to. And I wouldn’t have much respect for you if I could,” she told him, matter-of-factly. He looked at her inquiringly. “But for the love of the Maker drink the bloody tea and lie down before I really do club you over the head and drag you to your bed myself.”

“Up a ladder?”

“Don’t. Don’t underestimate me,” she threatened shaking a not entirely teasing finger in his direction.

“There is no risk of that,” Cullen answered sincerely, and sipped the tea. It was mild, with a little warm spice, and altogether unexpectedly pleasant.

A brief smile flickered across her face and then she examined the mess of papers across his desk, leafing through a couple of sheets on the surface and sighing. “You work too much.”

“And yet these never seem to diminish.”

“You must long for the field. Out there when the enemy is dead your task is done for the day. Here, the work constantly regenerates and you don’t even get the satisfaction of stabbing anyone.”

“That is…certainly one way of looking at it.”

Still distracted, Evelyn’s expression seemed to darken and she turned her attention back to him. “Please take care of yourself. For my sake. I need you at your best.”

His best? Cullen’s stomach became suddenly leaden. Growing very still he cast his gaze downward. If only she knew. He felt his guilt shroud him, his weakness, his failings.

He should thank her. For the tea. For her resilience in the face of his disagreeableness. For coming back. For not giving up on him.

He looked up and found she had already left.


	8. Skyhold: At the Tavern

 “What is it you’ve lost?” Varric finally asked Evelyn as she swivelled on her seat to peer around the tavern.

“Nothing,” she answered a bit too quickly.

“Really? Because you’re twitching this way and that like you’ve dropped your coin purse.”

“I’m just…looking about the place.” Evelyn raised her chin to better stare down her nose at Varric who was not deterred for a second.

 “What do you expect? It’s the Herald’s Rest. Same walls, same chairs, same dried patch of vomit over in the far corner that no one ever seems to get to cleaning.”

“Okay. Fine. I was seeing who else was here.”

“The same Skyhold lowlifes, dullards and drunks who are _always_ here.”

“I realise that now. I was just curious,” Evelyn said defensively and turned her gaze back to her tankard.

Varric looked at her with an affectionate, patient smile playing on his lips, like a parent might watch a toddler struggling and failing to feed themselves. “Cullen rarely descends from his tower to join us common folk, and usually only when you’re here. So, while I grant you there is a better chance tonight than usual, I still wouldn’t hold your breath.”

In her urgency to protest Evelyn swallowed her ale too quickly and coughed violently before objecting in a hoarse voice: “I’m not! I mean I wasn’t looking for _him_ specifically. What would make you think I even…I wasn’t looking for _anyone_. I was just…looking.” There was a beat while Evelyn considered, chewing her lip, and Varric let out a longsuffering sigh. “What do you mean usually only when I’m here?” she asked.

“Transparent as a pane of Serault’s finest glass,” Varric muttered with a shake of his head.

Evelyn threw up her hands in flustered surrender. “Oh, I’m so, _so_ sorry. I had no idea it was apparently against the law to cast one’s eyes innocently about a tavern. I will endeavour not to make the same mistake again, given it offends you so.”

Leaning around her, Varric squinted towards the door then whistled in amazement. “Would you look at that! Cullen is here after all.”

Evelyn spun to follow his line of sight with naïve enthusiasm. No one was there and the tavern door remained firmly shut. Shoving Varric’s shoulder so hard his drink sloshed onto the table only earned a chuckle out of him. “What? Just proving the point that you have an unusual amount of interest in the man.”

“So? He is interesting.”

“Fascinating even?”

Evelyn gave him a warning look. “Don’t push it.”

“I don’t get it. There are a lot of words I would use to describe Cullen: stoic, dull and uptight for instance. Interesting you say? There must be something I’m missing…” he trailed off as if in thought, all the while watching his drinking companion carefully from the corner of his eye.

Unfortunately, Evelyn missed this detail as she stared down at her hands, folding and unfolding them on the table restlessly.

“It’s just he is the first templar I’ve ever conversed with without them looking like they are itching to put a muzzle on me. I swear some of the templars at the Circle got so bored they _wanted_ us to dabble in a bit of blood magic here and there. You know, just so they could partake in the pleasure of striking down a few mages for a change of pace. But _he_ doesn’t seem to think I am up to anything untoward. Ever. Which is kind of irritating actually. Not that I am being devious and blood magic-y. But shouldn’t he think that I am? I mean I _could_ be, couldn’t I? Isn’t that the whole point of templars? To think like that? Sure, he has a general distrust of the rebel mages but honestly so do I to an extent –” she realised she was rambling and stopped abruptly, turning a self-conscious shade of pink.

“Hold up. You lost me there. Are you a blood mage or not?” Varric asked.

“No!” Finally realising she had tumbled headfirst into some kind of trap of Varric’s making Evelyn mumbled: “You’re intentionally missing the point.”

“But you’re thinking of trying blood magic out to get his attention? Is that it? Unconventional: I like it. Let me know how that works out for you.”

“I’m just trying to figure him out,” Evelyn attempted to clarify with exasperation.

“Figure what out? His strong jawline? His caramel eyes? His muscular –”

Evelyn let out a hiss of frustration. “Figure out if he is genuine or not.”

“Cullen may be a lot of things: irritable, stilted–”

“I think we’ve been through this part,” Evelyn told him tersely.

“But he doesn’t strike me as particularly deceitful. I think what you see is what you get. Unless he is hiding someone with an ounce of joviality under all that woodenness.”

Evelyn frowned. “You don’t seem to hold him in particularly high regard.”

“I like him just fine.” Evelyn nodded approvingly and Varric’s smile broadened. “Just not as much as you do.”

“Why? Why did I let myself get tricked into this conversation?”

Varric gave her an innocent look and spread his arms out in an open gesture. “I don’t know what you mean. I’m just here to help.”

“And why do I feel like this is going to come back to haunt me?” Evelyn asked, but Varric was suddenly distracted.

“Maker, Cullen really is here,” he told her in a low voice, looking past her shoulder once more towards the door. “You didn’t actually use blood magic to summon him, did you?”

“Do you think I’m an idiot?” she scoffed.

“Absolutely not. Doesn’t change the fact he is walking over.” Varric waved at someone behind her.

Evelyn tutted and folded her arms. “I’m not turning to look. Not again.”

“Well you really should.”

“I don’t want to. A child wouldn’t fall for the same trick twice. Let it go.”

“Don’t you want to see those golden locks and that handsome look of unshakeable disgruntlement?” Varric asked her, voice growing quieter with each word.

Evelyn let out an annoyed huff. “Varric! What do you want me to say? I have absolutely no desire to see, nor speak to Cullen. Not now. Not any time soon. He is the last person I want to…to have anything to do with! There: are you happy?” Evelyn said firmly.

Varric’s eyebrows shot up and he gave an apologetic grin to the person standing behind her. “That’s a shame.” He slid from his seat and strolled away, his work clearly done for the evening.

“Oh,” Evelyn said, terrible realisation finally dawning, turning to see Cullen who looked in equal parts perplexed and uneasy, glancing at the door as if trying to decide if it was too late to leave. “Hello Cullen. Good to see you.”

“Is it?” he asked drily as Evelyn rapidly downed the rest of her drink.

* * *

 

**_Bonus scene: Still at the Tavern_ **

Cullen gave Evelyn a generously long moment in which to explain. “I should leave you,” he told her as she continued to stammer. There was something in him that wished to relieve her embarrassment, an instinct to help her in whatever capacity he was capable of, but his injured pride effectively quashed it. If his arrival at the tavern was so vehemently opposed, he was more than happy to leave. He had only come to speak to her. He had thought she may welcome speaking to him too.

A mistake, as it turned out.

“Wait!” she said with some urgency, though he hadn’t actually moved to leave yet. Cullen folded his arms. “Wait. Just wait. Sit?”

“Should I really impose myself?” He was being standoffish and he knew it, though he could hardly reprimand himself. It was not the first time a joke had been made at his expense but this was different…she was different. He had truly thought…

“Turnips,” Evelyn said very seriously. “It was turnips.”

“What?” A fool. She must think him a complete and utter fool.

“I was telling Varric that I want to start planting some turnips in the Skyhold garden but I don’t know much about growing them. He said: “You should ask Cullen about it” and I was just saying…very emphatically I admit, that you would be the last person in Thedas I would consult about…turnips.”

“You can’t be serious.”

Quick as lighting Evelyn chirped: “Oh, you do know about growing them? Are they frost tolerant at all?”

“No of course I don’t know about turnips.”

“See? Like I told Varric! So, we won’t discuss them any further. But do sit. Please.”

It was tempting, he had to admit. Her eyes were wide and imploring and there was something so obvious and intentional about the lie that it put him at ease despite himself. Maybe there was a reasonable explanation although she clearly had no intention of sharing it with him.

Turnips? Honestly? Cullen repressed a laugh. Maker, she really would try and talk he way out of anything wouldn’t she? Instead he held firm, frowning and said: “I don’t believe you.”

“Fine. It’s too complicated to explain: Varric was being a troublemaker. Don’t believe me on the turnips.  But do believe I mean it in asking you to stay. _Begging_ you really.” She crossed her hands over her heart in a show of solemn honesty and smiled disarmingly at him.

And though still a little wounded, he truly did believe her, especially as he sat down and she sighed with undisguised relief. “I’ve never much liked turnips actually,” Cullen told her as he flagged for a drink.

Evelyn laughed. “Never mind, I’ve already gone off the idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year and thank you to all who continue on this journey! Sigh, just when they were making progress right? Don't worry: I'm sure she'll talk her way out of it! ;)


	9. Skyhold: Injured Soldier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello to any regular readers! Just letting you know I added a little bonus scene to the end of last chapter so you may want to go back and read that before proceeding.

Deeply concerned, Cullen had left his office at the sound of wheels on the cobbles and confused yelling. He found Skyhold’s courtyard in chaos and the Inquisitor in the thick of it.

Evelyn and her party hadn’t been expected back for another two weeks at least but here they were, and with over half a dozen wounded Inquisition soldiers draped in the back of a wagon that looked better suited to transporting cabbages.

“Cassandra? What happened?” he asked, struggling to attract the attention of the woman who seemed in a hurry.

Cassandra tutted and didn’t pause, striding away from the scene. “You talk to her: she is being irrational.”

Cullen waded through the new arrivals, and those milling around assisting them, until he reached the Inquisitor. “What -?”

“Our camp was ambushed,” Evelyn told him, hardly glancing in his direction, frowning and waving the wagon through, signalling with a broad sweep of her arm to the surgeon. There were dark thumbprints under her eyes and she looking somehow much thinner than before she had left Skyhold. “This woman is bleeding internally. I have stemmed it to buy time but I’m not sure the source, if there is only one,” she told the surgeon who nodded. Evelyn kept on, pointing at different people. “This man has a knife wound: lower back, concussion here, an arrow wound and the head shattered: can’t find the other shards, she has lost an eye and I think the socket may be infected.”

“We’ll do what we can. Let me prioritise the cases.”

“Prioritise them? Where are the healers from the rebel mages?”

“They were sent to help the refugees in Redcliffe.”

“What?” Evelyn said with unconcealed fury. “All of them? Who authorised that?”

“You did,” the surgeon told her bluntly.

Evelyn took in a sharp intake of breath as if she had been kicked. “Maker! I did. Do what you can then.”

Evelyn stepped back so that the wounded could continue to be unloaded and wiped her forehead with the back of her wrist leaving a streak of fresh blood across her face.

“Are you alright?” Cullen asked and she looked at him startled as if she had forgotten he was there.

“Yes,” she said curtly, then she let out a frustrated sigh. “I wasn’t there. We set up camp and left the following morning. We thought the area had been cleared. All the intel said the area was cleared. I don’t…I thought we were thorough but we left them with a contingent of red templars at their backs. It was my fault, I wanted to press on. I rushed leaving.”

“It’s not –”

Evelyn cut him off sharply and with a dismissive shake of her head. “Don’t tell me it’s not my fault.”

“You’re being –”

“Don’t tell me I’m being irrational either.”

Cullen let out a breath. “You’re being too hard on yourself,” he told her but she wasn’t listening, watching the soldiers being helped from the wagon and chewing on the edge of her thumb anxiously.

“What was I thinking not leaving some of the healers here?”

“The refugees are in a dismal state. We all agreed they needed the assistance.”

“ _They_ need the assistance!” Evelyn hissed, gesturing broadly at the soldiers.

“Our resources are stretched thin. You’re doing everything you can…Evelyn wait.” He had never seen her so frantic and her lack of composure left him rattled. She must have been torturing herself with guilt and worry the entire trip back. And now she had fixed her gaze on a young soldier who had been helped as far as a tree stump and left to sit against it, doubled over in pain and clutching his abdomen. Evelyn assessed him from a distance before marching towards the surgeon.

“What about him?” she asked impatiently.

Unintimidated, the surgeon glanced where Evelyn was pointing and snapped back: “And who do you want skipped instead?” she said, pointing towards the other wounded, already being laid out on stretchers.

Evelyn moved closer and lowered her voice. “This is _urgent_. He’s worse than most of them, surely you can see that.”

“Exactly. We have to focus on those with the best chances, not the lost causes.” Evelyn looked as if she had been struck and the surgeon softened. “We’ll make him as comfortable as we can, just as soon as I get a spare minute” she told her, then hurried back to her charges.

Evelyn looked at the man still slumped against the stump, then back desperately at the surgeon who was ignoring her and busy unwinding a bandage. Knowing as he did, that Evelyn had basic competency as a healer, Cullen could see it coming a mile away.

“You’re exhausted,” Cullen said, stepping in front of Evelyn in a half-hearted attempt to block her.

Evelyn brushed past him. “I’m fine.”

“You can’t do _everything_ ,” Cullen called after her, with no small amount of exasperation.

“No, but I can do this,” she said with a familiar authority that reminded him why she was the Inquisitor. Evelyn knelt by the stump and the man raised his head to look blearily towards her. “Bellin? Bellin? Hello,” she said, voice warm and gentle like she was greeting a shy child. He nearly was a child, Cullen realised, younger still than he had first assumed. Evelyn continued speaking: “Do you remember me? I’m Evelyn.”

Even through the pall of blood loss and pain Bellin’s face lit up at the sight of her. The man spluttered a laugh which left flecks of bloods on his chalky lips. “I remember you alright, Herald of Andraste.”

Evelyn laughed lightly too and Cullen smiled to see the patient so quickly put at ease by her presence. The amount of trust the troops had in her still astonished him. “Well done, that was just a test. I’m going to help you lay down alright? Make you a bit more comfortable.”

Cullen stepped forward belatedly to help but she managed alone, so slight was the young man. “Is there anything I can assist with?” he asked.

Evelyn turned to snap at him, hand already glowing with focused magic. “Back up and give me some space.”

Cullen didn’t need telling twice and promptly left, despite his reluctance. Evelyn was set on her course and there was no stopping her and certainly no helping her. It was part of what made her so formidable. It was part of what made her so frustrating.

It was hours until he saw her again. She entered cautiously through his office door and seeing he was alone, closed it but moved no further into the room. Cullen said nothing, leaning back in his chair and giving her an assessing look: the safest option as he attempted to gauge her mood.

“I wanted to apologise for being short with you earlier.”

“It’s not necessary.” Cullen waited to see if she had anything else to say but when she remained silent, leaning her back against the door, he continued: “I had the supplies salvaged from the camp audited for damage. Equipment requiring repairs is being attended to. Leliana has also been informed that sensitive documents or maps may have been looted by the enemy. I would like to attempt to recover them using soldiers already posted in the area but Leliana has suggested using the information they have to create a false trail and lay a trap. This of course, we can discuss later at the War Table.”

“Thank you.” Evelyn stepped closer and he was relieved to see in the light of his candles she looked more herself. Though still obviously tired, her frame seemed lighter and the nervous energy and adrenaline that had been sparking off her at her arrival had finally dissipated. Even as he concluded this she unexpectedly looked up and smiled, almost shyly at him. “What a mess.”

“No more than…everything else in Thedas currently.”

He was rewarded with another smile. “I’m just grateful I have people around me I can rely on to keep their heads, even when I lose mine.”

“You’re not…alone in this.” Evelyn looked at him for a long time, blinking and impossible to read, giving Cullen time to reflect on the stupidity of his own statement. Of course she was alone, in so many ways.

“I appreciate it,” was all she said in response, pushing back a strand of hair from her face with a slightly shaking hand. Without meaning too, or quite knowing what he intended, Cullen stood up, the suddenness of the movement startling them both. “I um, should speak to Leliana about what you said. About the missing documents,” Evelyn said quickly.

“You can speak to her later: get some rest.”

Evelyn smiled and raised an eyebrow. “I will speak to her and _then_ get some rest. You sound like my old nursemaid. Next you’ll be telling me to take a wool wrap with me ‘just in case’ in the middle of summer.”

Well, that certainly hadn’t been the angle he had been going for but it was too late now. “It can get quite chilly when the wind picks up,” he told her seriously.

Laughing and rolling her eyes Evelyn began to retreat. “Noted,” she told him, fingers on the door handle.

“How is he?”

“Who?” she asked without turning.

“Your patient?”

“He didn’t make it,” she said and slipped out of the room.


	10. Orlais: A Formal Dinner and Less Formal Conversations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Content warning: reference to self-harm._

Cullen had not been looking forward to it.

Frankly he had been dreading it.

Apart from the imposition on his schedule of the event itself, he had wasted precious minutes of his time trying (and failing) to formulate ways to avoid the damned thing. But he had skipped too many of these formalities recently and it was creating a regrettable burden on Josephine to make excuses.

While Cullen didn’t like Josephine’s work, he respected the significance of it enough to brave the dinner, this time at least. They were at the home of a noble, several days ride from Skyhold and Cullen, already seated in his assigned chair, was occupying himself by surveying the exits to the building and imagining different scenarios in which the gathering could be attacked. Though he and Leliana had already made extensive emergency plans using blueprints of the location before departing Skyhold, it was still helpful to familiarise himself with the reality of the situation.

Plus, anything that allowed him to imagine picking up a weapon and fighting his way out of this place was preferable to the small talk that people kept trying to engage him in.

Thinking of potential emergencies reminded him to check on the whereabouts of the Inquisitor who was naturally, always the primary concern. Evelyn was as she had been the last time he had looked: deep in conversation with a group of fawning guests. Telling an elaborate story, illustrated by wide hand gestures, much to the amusement of the onlookers who stared on enraptured, even lightly applauding her at one point. He couldn’t blame them: she had a way of monopolising his attention too when she spoke. No wonder Josephine prized her.

Evelyn always performed her part at these gatherings with equanimity, even when she would rather not be there. Her noble upbringing had clearly qualified her well for the tedious socialisation of her role as Inquisitor, even if she did claim to have been unacceptably wild in her parent’s eyes. Evelyn told him stories of escaping through windows and hiding in the forest overnight to avoid formal gatherings, arriving to greet guests with an intentionally ruined dress and of once releasing a fennec in the middle of dinner to induce chaos. It was hard to imagine, looking at the woman who was charming diplomats, nobles and staff alike, dressed in the kind of formal mage armour that someone who had never seen combat even from a distance would design. But somehow, instead of being rendered ridiculous, Evelyn managed to look dignified in it, even beautiful. And with just the barest whisper of power and danger hinted at by the military trimmings.

Yes, no wonder Josephine prized her.

Distracted momentarily by a servant who was trying to top up his wine glass, Cullen returned his gaze and was surprised to find Evelyn looking back at him. The man beside her was pointing and she nodded, before weaving her way through the milling guests. “Hello,” she said, slipping into the seat beside him. “Looks like we are to be dining companions. I must forewarn you: I’m a messy eater.”

Cullen was too cynical to be immediately pleased. Evelyn was _never_ seated beside him at formal events. At Skyhold she was seated firmly amongst the guests of honour, and away from Skyhold always with the hosts. Anything else would conventionally be thought of as an insult. Perhaps Josephine sought to reward his participation and arranged it somehow, or perhaps it was the Maker intervening in a show of divine mercy. “Aren’t you expected to be at the beck and call of our magnanimous hosts all evening?”

“Not tonight. See that man over there?”

“The one covered completely in feathers? I wish I could unsee him.”

Evelyn laughed lightly and reprimanded him with a shushing sound. “Gaël Lucien Deschamps,” she said with some relish. “He is considered one of the greatest living actors in Orlais and supersedes me as the guest of honour tonight. And thus, I have been demoted to dine amongst the common folk it seems. No offense intended.”

“None taken. But I’m surprised an actor should be deemed of higher standing. Is the Inquisition’s controversy fading? I can’t imagine it.”

Evelyn shrugged. “They worship the arts in Orlais and I certainly don’t mind. Impending chaos and doom are only secondary apparently. My responsibilities are largely over for the night.” She let out a tired groan. “It’s such a relief honestly.” Evelyn had arrived straight to this event from a long week spent cleaning up a bandit stronghold in the Hinterlands. She couldn’t even make it back to Skyhold without being intercepted by a society event it seemed. Cullen held no envy for her situation.

 “I sympathise but this is ridiculous. An _actor_ is considered of more significance than you? Does Josephine know of this?”

“The plight of the Inquisition quite pales in significance compared to the spellbinding quality of a tragic monologue recited by Gaël. Or so I understand.”

“The more I witness of these social machinations the less I understand them,” Cullen said with a dissatisfied scoff.

Evelyn gave him a thoughtful look through narrowed eyes that immediately made him nervous. “You seem to strongly object to sitting beside me. Perhaps you are concerned I will embarrass you? Or frighten away potential suitors?” She waggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Cullen swallowed. “I am simply perturbed that Josephine impressed upon me the alleged importance of attending this event, only to discover that our presence here has been supplanted by a half-man, half-bird.”

Evelyn leaned close and lightly nudged him with her shoulder. “Oh, it does more good that you realise to be visible. Don’t be discouraged.”

“If you say so.”

“Next time we will all have to wear more feathers to compete for attention.”

“Over my dead body.”

“So, can you endure it?”

“Dying to avoid wearing a ridiculous costume?”

“No,” Evelyn laughed. “My company for the evening.”

“That? With pleasure,” he said with warm certainty. It may have been his imagination, or the dim lighting, but Evelyn seemed to flush and made some sudden adjustments to her hair.

“I was impressed to hear you would be in attendance actually,” she told him.

“I try to make an appearance at least one in ten of the events Josephine invites me to.”

“And this was lucky number ten?”

Cullen considered for a moment. “More like seventeen.”

“Poor Josephine,” Evelyn said, shaking her head but failing to hide a smile. She tilted her empty glass. “Where are those servants all of a sudden? I’m parched from speaking.”

“Have mine,” Cullen said automatically, shifting it across the table.

“Oh? Not drinking?”

“No.”

“I would have thought you would need all the help you can find to get through the night.”

“I’d prefer to keep my senses undulled,”

“To better enjoy the stimulating debates over whether velvet is in this season?”

“Obviously velvet is in,” he said, completely deadpan and Evelyn snorted. “And should some threat arise,” he added, with a vague motion of his hand around the room.

“Do you mean a pack of assassins descending on me from the ceiling? Or the kitchen cat mistaking Gaël for a sparrow and attacking him?”

“Either I suppose, though I confess: I would only seek to intervene in one of those scenarios.”

“I worry which now!” Evelyn said, and glanced with feigned concern up towards the ceiling rafters. Then she bumped her shoulder against his again, moving close enough that he could smell the perfume of her hair, powdery and floral. “Are you constantly on duty? Don’t you ever relax?” she asked.

“Not in a room full of insufferable strangers I am supposed to feign politeness towards.”

Someone caught her eye at that moment and she smiled and waved courteously, only to pull a disgusted face as they turned away for Cullen’s benefit and he chuckled. “When then?” she asked, carrying on their conversation.

“Do I relax?” Cullen made an evasive humming sound and tried to think of an answer that wasn’t focused around spending time with her: when they played chess together, walked together, when she came to his office for work and they went broadly off topic in conversation or even their occasional melee training sessions. “I like to read,” he finally said, and it was true enough, though he rarely took the time to do it for leisure and only when he could not sleep.

“Interesting,” said Evelyn, seemingly satisfied by the response before a look of alarm overtook her. “Wait, look like you’re in conversation with me,” she said, swivelling in her chair to face him better, her knees brushing his leg.

“I am in conversation with you?”

“ _More_ in conversation with me,” she said, shifting even closer. “Really deep in conversation, like it would be rude to interrupt us.”

“That is quite specific.”

“Yes, but someone I really don’t like to is coming this way and…” Cullen automatically began to turn to see who she was referring to and Evelyn took a sharp intake of breath. “Don’t look,” she hissed, and grabbed urgently at his leg to get his attention. Cullen nearly shot through the ceiling. “Just keep talking.”

It would be a lot easier to think of something to say if she would take her hand off his thigh but ever determined to serve the Inquisition in whatever capacity he was capable of Cullen muttered: “If Gaël moves any closer to that candle I fear one of his feathers will catch.”

“You don’t sound too distressed at the prospect. It wouldn’t take him long to go up in flames. I almost think he’d do it on purpose, just for dramatic effect.”

“Someone would throw a slop bucket on him before he came to any real harm.”

“Surely,” Evelyn said, looking nervously from the corner of her eye for whoever she was trying to avoid.

“People did used to do that on purpose, when I was training as a Templar.”

Evelyn turned her full attention back to him in surprise. “Really? Set themselves on fire?”

“Not fully. Though it has been known to happen. In each Chantry there is a brazier that burns in Andraste’s memory.”

“I recall. But burning yourself in it seems a bit of an extreme way to commemorate.”

“It was meant to be cleansing. Some of the faithful would put their hands in it.”

Evelyn looked at him with scepticism. “Charred flesh and a blistering, pus-filled burn seems rather more messy to me than clean.”

“I’m not arguing in favour of it.”

“And did you partake?” she asked, glancing at his hands as if to check for tell-tale scarring and finally removing her own from his leg in the process, his tensed muscles relaxing .

“No. But as part of our training we had to periodically write our sins on a piece of parchment and burn them under supervision to seek atonement.”

“Did you have a lot of sins to cleanse yourself of Cullen?” Evelyn asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Often I had to make some sins up, just to meet the quota: ‘I coveted a fellow recruit’s bowl of stew’ or ‘I thought hateful things towards the instructor during morning drills’, that sort of nonsense.”

Evelyn pouted a little. “A disappointingly honest answer. And lying was probably a sin in itself.”

“I should imagine so.”

She leaned close again so she could look over his shoulder and half-whispered: “Ooh, I think he’s gone. I couldn’t bear speaking to him right now, I just couldn’t.”

“I thought the whole point of these things was to talk to people you don’t like?”

“If that’s the case we’re not doing very well are we?” she said sounding amused, her eyes glittering in the candlelight.

Cullen smiled. “Odd then that I seem to be enjoying it more this way.”

“Me too,” she agreed as the dinner gong was rung and more people began to filter to their seats.

* * *

**_Some days later…_ **

Josephine was silent as Evelyn signed letter after letter, barely pausing to skim the contents of each. Her trust in Josephine was absolute: the woman could write that the Inquisitor was declaring herself to be at war with all nugs and that no one should wear the colour green in her presence and Evelyn would happily put her name to it with an: “if you think it best Josie.”

When her task was complete Evelyn stretched, back stiff from leaning over the desk. “Anything else you need?” she asked and Josephine surveyed her with steepled fingers.

“You enjoyed the dinner?” It sounded like an accusation.

“It was unremarkable, which is good by our standards,” Evelyn said with a shrug.

“Well I hope you two are satisfied with your performance. You made _quite_ the impression.” Josephine was adopting a tone of reprimand but seemed too pleased for it to be taken seriously.

“What are you talking about Josephine?”

“I am just curious as to what you attempting to achieve. Trying to divert attention from Gaël Lucien?”

“Hardly: I appreciated the break from being the chief exhibit to be gawked at in the room.”

“But people _never_ stop gawking at the Inquisitor, as you surely realise? I thought perhaps you were contriving to create a counter spectacle to that striking feathered ensemble. I only wish you would have forewarned me of the strategy.”

“What spectacle? I only spilled food on myself once. Twice? I behaved myself, didn’t I?”

“You certainly behaved. Behaved like a couple of smitten adolescents.”

Evelyn narrowed her eyes. “What is this about?”

“Tittering over your little jokes, sharing a wine glass, all but sitting in his lap at one point of the night I heard?” Josephine hardly needed to explain who she was speaking of.

“That is…ridiculous.” Flustered, Evelyn took a long breath to calm herself. “And did you witness any of this?”

“Not as such. But I did witness Cullen in a good mood which must be a first for this kind of event and evidently grounds for commentary in some circles.”

“Josie, you should be well aware how gossip gets exaggerated with every retelling. Rumours have me paired up and married to every person I briefly make eye contact with for Andraste’s sake.”

“I _am_ well aware, and it was not my intention to accuse you of anything. Only…”

“What is it?”

“You should be aware how cosy the two of you look together sometimes. If you don’t want people to talk.”

“Cosy? _Cosy!_ For having a conversation? What am I supposed to do? Ignore him? Pretend we’ve never met? Slap him if he presumes to look at me?”

“It is a warning only, so that you should not be caught off guard if a rumour or stray comment were to reach you.”

“It’s absurd!” Evelyn objected defensively, and more angrily than she had meant to.

“It was never my intention to offend you. I am not implying anything but you should know as well as I do that the way things _are_ means nothing compared to the way things _look_. Just a friendly reminder,” Josephine said delicately, voice pacifying.

Evelyn huffed and pushed her hair back behind her ears. “I know this isn’t coming from you. And I can admit: I may have forgotten myself for a moment.”

“Forgotten yourself?”

Evelyn shook her head. “Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say I remembered myself. Evelyn. Just Evelyn. I had forgotten ‘The Inquisitor’ for a moment.”

Josephine sighed and nodded sympathetically. “It is a more difficult role than Gaël Lucien could ever dream of performing and you do it beautifully.”

Embarrassed by the praise, by the whole conversation, Evelyn frowned. “It’s just…the scrutiny is frustrating. I can’t have a moment to… to…”

“Flirt with the Commander?”

“It was nothing,” Evelyn said quickly, real irritation making her voice sharp.

Josephine raised an apologetic hand. “Regardless, romance is an eternally favourite flavour in Orlais and this has become widespread. It is diverting attention from our more important messages.”

“Maker help me.”

Josephine made a consoling tutting noise. “But it will be old news, in a matter of weeks I dare say, with the first distraction that arises. Or distraction that I create. Not worth troubling yourself over further.”

“I just can’t begin to understand it. I spoke plenty to you as well that night yet there are no rumours?”

“Yes, but you and I do not look at each the way that you and Cullen do.”

Evelyn folded her arms. “Now you _are_ implying something.”

“I’m not prying. As I said: I thought it would be preferable to hear it from me first.”

“Fine. Thank you. But don’t mention this to Cullen. The speculation would only upset him.”

Josephine looked appalled and reeled back from her desk. “Of course not! I would never be able to convince him to emerge into society ever again!”


	11. Skyhold: Horses and Dragons

Cullen had already decided she wasn’t in the stable and was about to leave when he heard movement from one of the stalls. Investigating, he found her tending to her favourite horse. Leaning on the stall gate to watch she looked up and gave him a quick smile in greeting before returning to her task. “There you are,” he said.

“Was I hiding?” Evelyn said with a laugh that made his heart leap for not having head it for so many weeks. “Just giving this one a rub down. The roads were dusty.” She gave the horse a fond pat on the rump and the resulting cloud of dust attested to her statement. Cullen didn’t need to ask why she hadn’t just asked a groomsman to see to the job: she saw caring for the horse as the responsibility of the rider. As far as her schedule allowed, that is. In hindsight this should have been the first place he looked.

“People kept telling me you had arrived back and I was starting to think they were mistaken.”

“Someone else with a glowing hand waltzed into Skyhold and they just gave her my room and called her ‘Inquisitor’? Can’t say it’s not fine by me.”

“You’re not that easy to replace,” he told her firmly.

“Oh,” Evelyn turned to him with a worried look. “Oh dear. What’s that voice for?” Cullen simply continued to stare evenly at her. “The dragon. This is about the dragon, right?”

“Yes, the dragon. Had you forgotten?”

“No, no. It’s uh…it’s coming back to me.”

“Teeth the length of your arm? And emitting lighting by all reports?”

“That does ring a bell.”

“Yes, the dragon you engaged in combat recently. I understand during which battle it began bearing down on Dorian and you intervened by throwing a rock at it. You ran towards a dragon and threw a rock. You threw a rock at a _dragon_ , in case it requires any further clarification.”

“It was lucky there were rocks about. My back up plan was my boot.” Cullen did not laugh and Evelyn seemed to wilt, giving him a guilty look. “You’re angry.”

Cullen let out a sigh and finally moved to pat the nose of the horse who was desperately stretching towards him for attention. “No, I’m not angry.”

“I think you might be.”

“Why would I be angry? You’re not a child.”

Evelyn, grimacing, looked unconvinced and returned to brushing down the flank of her horse, a little more urgently than before. “It was attacking travellers. Before it just took livestock, which was trouble enough, but it had started after people. Our soldiers were stationed dangerously nearby, children from Crestwood were being kept indoors –”

“Evelyn, I understand your justifications for wanting the beast despatched with. What I don’t understand however, is why this happened on what was scheduled to be a ‘scouting mission’.”

“I was worried you and the others would tell me not to if I made my intentions clear.”

Cullen felt his heart thudding more loudly as he struggled to read her expressionless face as she avoided looking at him. “Would it have stopped you if I had said no?”

Evelyn moved to the other side of the horse and Cullen heard a quiet “No,” in response, muffled by the bulk of the animal. Her head popped into view suddenly. “And would you?”

“What?”

“Have said no?” she clarified sounding suddenly irritated.

“Only because we have other priorities,” he told her brusquely and honestly.

“Ha,” Evelyn responded with heavy scepticism. There was a new tension thickening the air. Even the horse shifted uneasily as if it could sense the change and Evelyn made soothing, shushing noises as she brushed.

“I’m not immune to the suffering of the people of Crestwood, even not having been there as you were. I want to assure their safety as much as you do.”

“But?” Evelyn prompted, anticipating the rest of his statement and crouching to brush out the fine feathers of hair near the front hoof.

“However,” Cullen began begrudgingly, “The rest of Thedas is depending on us too. Depending on you. Unnecessary risks are…indulgent at this time, in light of the greater threat.” Cullen waited, wondering if he had offended her with his reprimand.

After what felt a lifetime, Evelyn stood, stretching her back with her hands on her hips. The horse abandoned Cullen and immediately turned to her, nosing at her with snuffles of enthusiasm. It became obvious why when Evelyn produced a small apple from her pocket. “Is this what you’re after?” Evelyn asked the animal with unmasked affection, resting her cheek against the horse's neck for a moment. “You’re right,” she finally told him, still not looking at him. “But _everything_ is a risk. I could fall off my horse or choke on a fish bone.”

“Riding a horse and eating supper hardly fall into the same category as starting an argument with a dragon.”

“And I could be taken by a stray arrow in combat any day of the week,” Evelyn said nonchalantly while fishing out another apple.

“Precisely,” Cullen said. “Highlighting why we should minimise the combat you participate in. I don’t mean wrapping you in cottonwool, just prioritising your exposure to only the most crucial of engagements.”

“But when we have the resources and the power to do something, to help people, how can we just walk away? People could have been killed and that would have been on my conscience.”

When Evelyn failed to produce any more food, the horse snorted and turned its attention back to nudging Cullen. “I’m not saying you did the wrong thing.”

“Then what are you saying exactly, _Commander_?” she asked with a mocking, sceptical tone.

“Only to be careful. But not as the Commander. As...” he trailed off, fumbling for words.

Evelyn looked taken aback, eyes widening. “Yes?”

“I…” Lost, Cullen gave her the desperate look of a drowning man, but it was not Evelyn who rescued him. The horse having nosed around his cloak let out a loud, frustrated snort that startled both of people present.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Evelyn reached deep into her pocket and pulled out a final apple. “You’re right, I’m sorry. There was another one,” she told the horse consolingly, while it took an eager chomp of the fruit. “I’m in trouble with everyone today,” she finished, speaking more to the animal than to him.

“You’re not – I’m just glad you’re back. And reasonably unharmed.”

“Thank you,” Evelyn said, something softening in her voice as the horse noisily licked her hand.

Cullen relaxed his shoulders. “Perhaps we shouldn’t discuss the matter any further.”

Evelyn smiled and nodded in agreement. “That may be for the best. Although I am curious: who told you about me throwing the rock?”

“If you honestly thought Sera would keep that quiet…I must know. Did you really yell ‘Oi scalebrains cop a load of this’ as you threw it?” Cullen asked, affecting a vague approximation of Sera’s accent for a moment.

Evelyn laughed and rolled her eyes. “What do you think?”

“I didn’t really believe it. But some part of me had hoped.”

Cullen moved aside and opened the stall gate for her as Evelyn pondered. “I think what I might have been saying at that point was ‘shitshitshit’ under my breath and then yelled ‘Watch the bloody tail!’. Is that too disappointing?”

“A little, but perhaps more appropriate given the circumstance. If you have the time, I would like to hear exactly how it transpired. From your perspective of course. Sera’s involved mounting the creature and flying about for a time.” Cullen told her as they moved towards the courtyard.

“Really? It won’t frustrate your finely-honed military sensibilities too much to hear of our chaotic, slapdash approach?”

“Improvisation is to be commended in some circumstances. I may learn something from this.”

Evelyn stopped in her tracks to give him a pleased look. “That is very large of you to admit.”

“And you must never, under any circumstances, let Sera know,” Cullen insisted.


	12. Skyhold: Just a Bit Tipsy

They had spoken at length that morning at the stables so he hesitated to stop her. Especially given she was so clearly on her way back to her quarters for the night. Except that she looked troubling dishevelled. Her hair was lopsided and falling from its fastening, he was pretty sure her coat was inside out and she was walking slightly bent over, as if in pain.

“Evelyn?” he asked carefully, trying not to startle her.

She looked about bewildered, staggered closer, and then snorted upon seeing him. “ _You_ ,” was all she said, sounding a bit disgusted.

“Me?”

“Of course _you’re_ here,” she snorted again.

“I left a reference book with Josephine earlier and was collecting it from her office.”

“How _convenient_.”

Cullen squared himself, a little baffled. “Are you implying I conspired to be here at this time in order to…intercept you?” Not this time. Other times yes, he had done exactly that, but not _this_ time.

 “So indignant!” she managed to splutter out before choking slightly. When she had finished laughing heartily, hand over her heart, Evelyn shook her head. “No, _you_ didn’t conspire. The Maker cannot seem…to let me suffer one moment of indignity without a witness. And natrularrrlly,” she hesitated, stumbling over the pronunciation of the word, “Naturally, it would be _you_ ,” she clarified, jabbing in his direction with her pointed finger.

The laughter seemed to have set her off balance and she swayed slightly. Taking a step closer Cullen realised she was drunk. Quite drunk.

That would explain it.

With a bemused smile he offered his arm. “Given I am here, may I escort you the remaining distance to your quarters?”

“You might as well make yourself useful for once,” she said haughtily, taking his arm lightly as if she were doing him a favour. Upon attempting a single step, she immediately tripped and clung onto him, grabbing a fistful of his shirt in her panic as Cullen quickly reached to wrap a supportive arm around her. “Who put that there?” she asked him accusingly, staring at absolutely nothing on the ground in front of her.

Cullen chuckled. “I am not certain. However, should I happen to encounter the culprit I will be sure to see them imprisoned under the harshest of terms.”

“Very good then.” Looking up at him with a dazed expression, Evelyn became suddenly aware of their awkward embrace and shoved him half-heartedly away. “I’m doing fine. Stop fussing.”

“Yes, you’re doing fine,” he reassured her, taking her arm again when she seemed distracted, just in case she encountered any other imaginary trip hazards.

“I made it up the stairs _alone_.”

“Yes, you did.”

“I only fell _four times_ ,” Evelyn informed him proudly.

“That is…very impressive.”

“I did it on my own,” she told him again and then halted their slow progress forward and looked suddenly downcast, shadows on her face emphasised by the low light of the hall. “I have to do _everything_ on my own.”

Feeling vastly underprepared for this sudden change in tone Cullen quickly tried to reassure her. “That’s not true. Josephine, Leliana and I are all here to support you in whatever capacity we can.”

Evelyn sighed and leaned heavily against him, staring down at her boots, then began babbling so rapidly he had to strain to understand her. “You don’t understand. I have to do everything! Something needs doing? The Inquisitor does it. The Inquisitor _wants_ something? The Inquisitor has to be the one to go out and get it. Why can’t someone _else_ do it for a change? Do they not want it too? Is that it? But I would really like it if someone else would just do it. I think they want to do it?  But they never do _anything._ ” She tilted her face upwards and looked expectantly, almost desperately at him. “When are you going to do something Cullen?” she asked and it was the most sober she had sounded yet.

Cullen became suddenly aware of how close she was to him, and how she seemed to be radiating heat. Evelyn tightened her grip around his arm. Her cheeks were rosy from the drink and her lips were stained burgundy from the wine. He cleared his throat, awkward in the face of her unflinching gaze. “Is this about the works you ordered in The Storm Coast? Because I’m expecting a report presently.”

Evelyn looked disappointed and sagged against him. “No, it isn’t about anything,” she mumbled, sounding exhausted. Confirming this she added: “I’m really tired,” and yawned.

“I’m not surprised,” he replied sympathetically. They walked (staggered) in silence to the door leading to her quarters from the main hall and Cullen hesitated.

“You had better come in. I’m not sure I am actually doing so well. I fell _four times_ on the stairs outside.” There was no trace of pride this time, just weary resignation.

She was right: the stairs proved tricky as Evelyn kept dragging her feet. Giving up, Cullen all but lifted her up, hefting her step by step, arm bracing her around the waist. It would have been a lot easier if he had just picked her up properly and carried her the remainder of the way but he sensed her pride would trigger a protest were he to attempt it. At least this way she would allow herself to be helped.

He led (hauled) her to the edge of the bed which she immediately collapsed happily onto face first. Rolling onto her back, Evelyn groaned and covered her eyes with her arm. “Bull really insisted on celebrating the dragon kill _properly_ …but the fourth round was definitely a mistake.”

“What makes you think that?” Cullen said wryly.

“The fact that the two after that was three too many,” she mumbled.

Cullen chuckled despite himself. “The drink evidently hasn’t impaired your wit.”

Evelyn removed her arm and smiled a slow, broad smile at him that made his chest feel like it was constricting. “You can go now, you and your judgemental frown,” she told him in a low voice.

“I’m not being judgmental.”

“But you are frowning. Go on, I’m fine now. You’ve enjoyed the spectacle long enough.” She raised an arm into the air and flapped her hand at him. “Shoo.”

Cullen tutted and raised his eyebrows which only made her flap her hand more vigorously. “Very well,” he said and began to leave.

“Unless…you want to stay and help me undress?” she asked coyly and for what felt like the ten thousandth time since they met Cullen had to wonder if she was actually flirting with him or just teasing. Either way it mattered not at that moment: she was completely soused.

“Good luck with that,” he managed to answer bluntly, despite the prickling heat rising up his neck. Evelyn let out a burst of cackling laughter. Cullen made for the exit, trying to appear unflustered.

“Thank you for your help,” she called as he reached the first step, not laughing now, her voice sincere, even a little sad, and once again he felt caught off-guard by the change in tone.

Cullen turned. Evelyn had sat up and was watching him go, perched on the edge of the mattress, rumpled clothes and hunched shoulders. She dropped her gaze to the floor. He was not accustomed to seeing The Inquisitor so vulnerable. Suddenly he didn’t like to leave. Suddenly he wanted to take her securely up in his arms again. He swallowed. “You should really drink some water: for your head tomorrow,” he told her, matter-of-factly.

Evelyn rolled her eyes and groaned. “Shoo!” she yelled once more before falling back onto the mattress.


	13. Skyhold: Overtime

Cullen had wondered if she might be busy, but the servant he had passed at the door had waved him in with confidence. He certainly hadn’t expected her to be in her robe, hair loose in waves about her shoulders, skin glowing in the dusky pinks of the sunset. Evelyn barely looked up as he walked in, scratching at a page with furious speed. “You look…” he began unguardedly.

“Extremely casual: I know and I am sorry.” He was glad she had interrupted him: he had been about to blurt out ‘beautiful’. She looked like a painting someone would have in Orlesian parlour, soft but still somehow self-possessed. Regal even.  Cullen didn’t speak, waiting for her to finish whatever train of thought she was so frantically scrawling. Evelyn did a distinct, almost aggressive full stop and dropped the quill as if it were suddenly burning hot. “There. That should shut them up for one whole week,” she muttered, more to herself than him.

“Trouble?”

“Just self-important pests of minor nobles squabbling like boundary disputes matter when the rest of Thedas is falling to pieces. But Josie says we _need_ them on side. Honestly this is a space the size of a chicken coop and they have shed blood over it already. What if I went out there and opened a rift over the patch of grass in question, hm? I would like to see them fight over who owned it then, with demons frolicking about and...” she broke off into a yawn.

Cullen, smiling at her disgruntled ramblings, attempted a serious expression. “Would you like me to arrange for Inquisition forces to claim and occupy the disputed area? A single tent should suffice.”

“I can’t tell if you’re serious or not but don’t tempt me. I’m truly so cross. I was about to get an early night too, a really early night, just before _this_ arrived.” She shook the letter as if she hoped the nobles responsible might feel it. Cullen meanwhile, became suddenly self-conscious of the conspicuous papers he was carrying and shifted trying conceal them. She must have read his thoughts because she laughed and said: “That is kind but I can see them already.”

“It can wait.”

“I want you to stay,” she told him. Cullen reflexively tried to rub the back of his neck but had forgotten he was still holding the papers and stretched awkwardly instead. Oblivious to his discomfort Evelyn continued: “Besides, I’m too riled up now to sleep: we may as well go over whatever it is.”

“Very well,” he told her, “But let the record show I feel bad for it.” Worse than she could possibly know given this wasn’t even urgent and he had just wanted an excuse to see her. She had been back at Skyhold three full days and they hadn’t crossed paths yet except at a war table meeting. This was an act of desperation. A clumsy one, as it turned out.

“Truly Cullen,” she reassured him, “It will be refreshing to speak to someone rational. I need to restore my faith in humanity before I can even consider sleep.”

“I would be glad to be of service then, as best I can.”

Evelyn stood up, moving away from the desk even as he walked towards it. “No, I can’t sit there a moment longer. Have you eaten?”

Cullen was suffering minor whiplash from the topic change. “Yes?”

“Perfect, you’ll be ready for dessert then.”

It sounded strangely provocative with her walking towards him, dressed as she was and he cleared his throat loudly and far too obviously. Evelyn gave him a sideways, perplexed look in response as she passed. Moments later she flomped down on her settee with a snort of satisfaction in what was possibly the least seductive manner imaginable.

Cullen attempted to moderate his thoughts. She deserved better. She deserved the respect her position entitled her to. He asked: “Would you like me to fetch something?” A walk would do him good.

“What? No. I just ordered some cakes and they always bring me enough for about eight people so it will be nice to have some help with them for a change.” She pushed herself more upright, gathering her hair back from her face, winding it and tucking it over one shoulder. “Otherwise my horse might actually refuse to let me on his back when I next need to leave Skyhold.”

His stomach sank a little at the thought. “Do you know when that will be?”

“Pardon?”

“When will that be?”

“What? Oh, leaving Skyhold? Not tomorrow, day after. Come over here will you? I don’t have the energy to yell across the room.” She patted the seat beside her and Cullen felt a small surge of panic that was born mostly of guilt. Would she be so at ease if she knew how he felt about her? She patted again then pointed at the papers he held. “I can’t read those from here either.”

Cullen relented and sat, leaving a strategic distance between them that he hoped was close enough to make it seem like he wasn’t trying to avoid sitting directly next to her without giving away that he would very much like to be sitting closer.

He was aware he may be overthinking it. Maker, who put him in charge of an army?

Evelyn, humming softly and wholly ignorant of his internal struggle, prised the papers from his hands when he forgot to give them to her. He sat rigidly while she read, skimming the first couple of pages then leafing through the rest. Suddenly she leaned over to bump her shoulder against his, jostling him. Cullen, who had been determinedly staring out the window turned to look at her in surprise. “This,” she said, rustling the papers in his direction, “Is incredibly boring.”

Cullen let out a startled laugh. “Had I known they would be insufficiently entertaining I would have brought you a novel instead.”

Evelyn put the papers on the floor and pushed them away with her foot. “Or you could just talk to me for a while?” she suggested with a beguiling smile.

“About what?” asked Cullen, whose traitorous mind had gone blank of all possible avenues of conversation.

She swivelled towards him with earnest enthusiasm. “About what it was like training to be a templar? How often did you take history classes? What kind of sparring exercises did you do? Did you ever go to the White Spire? Was the food good? Is it hot in the helmet?”

Amused, Cullen shook his head. “This again? It is fortunate you are a mage given your passionate interest in templar life. Did you spend all your time in the Ostwick Circle studying the templars there like research subjects?”

Evelyn gaped at him for a moment. “You really think I just happen to have some peculiar, lifelong fascination with templars…” she laughed, and patient smile not fading said: “If you were a farmer I would be asking a lot of questions about livestock care and crop rotations right now.”

 “I don’t know anything about –” he began but she cut him off.

“Cullen. I’m not interested in templars: I’m interested in you.”

“That…” Cullen stammered. There was a knock, sparing him the need to answer.

The cakes had arrived and Evelyn busied herself assessing and ranking the options, filling her plate with practised efficiency."Why do they even bother making these? Not even worth the chewing. These are nice if you don't mind lemon. Ooh, the jam ones!"

Cullen, never so relieved for the arrival of a servant in his life, was considering slipping the man an entire purse of gold the next time he saw him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting close. Really. Truly. No, _honestly_. Just trust me. ;)  
>  Thanks so much for reading - so good to have you on this journey with me!


	14. Skyhold: Conversations Over Chess

Frowning, Evelyn considered her options, finally shifting a rook. She let out a huff of irritation when he chuckled at her choice. “What?”

“That was brazen.”

“You mean desperate.”

“Your strategy is your own,” he said with careful neutrality.

“There is nothing to this but blind panic, trust me.”

Cullen titled his head and gave her a sceptical look. “I learned very early on in our acquaintance that you always have a strategy.”

“You’re making me sound devious.” She raised an eyebrow at him.  “And I don’t necessarily mind it.”

“As if I needed confirmation…” he trailed off with a smirk, turning his attention once more to the game. She liked watching him slip into deep focus like that, the way he could give his full attention to something, applying an intensity that she felt her own easily distracted mind could only aspire to.

Chess was certainly good for concentration. He on the game, she on anything in the world but the game, her mind wandering in a peaceful, ambling way. Evelyn liked the long, thoughtful silences, the quiet conversation and most of all the way she could stare at Cullen and pretend she was only trying to discern his next move.

It was her turn again and he looked up at her, endearingly pleased with himself. Evelyn scrunched up her face as if disgusted. He laughed. “Stop trying to distract me.”

“It’s all I have to fall back on right now,” she said truthfully and shoved another piece across the board almost at random. Cullen made the slightest jerking motion and Evelyn knew that she had definitely lost the game already.

“That was either reckless or genius.”

Evelyn abruptly changed the subject without even realising she was about to do it: “Why were you always so forgiving of my clumsy attempts to expose you as some kind of mage-hating fanatic? I am amazed you held your temper. I was so…”

Cullen, after a moment of surprise at her outburst, smiled and moved a pawn. “Persistent?”

“That is a tactful way of putting it.”

“Where has this come from all of a sudden?”

“Me ‘always having a strategy’. Being devious. _Persistent_. Your words.”

“Don’t tell me I’ve hurt your feelings?” his tone was light but a flicker of concern passed over his face.

“Not at all. I was just reflecting,” she gave him a reassuring smile and found herself holding his gaze for a long moment as she considered. “I admit, I was a little single-minded in targeting you. I’m not sure I’ll ever understand how you let me get away for so long being so…impertinent.”

She expected a laugh. Instead, he let out a heavy sigh, expression clouding over. “I was ashamed.”

“Ashamed?” Evelyn let out an involuntary bark of laughter. “Ashamed of what? I was wrong, I couldn’t have been more wrong.”

“Your assumptions about what a templar is, everything you alleged…They _are_ what I was. Once was.”

Evelyn waited expectantly for the punchline, for him to explain the joke. “Not you,” she said quietly when he did not speak but Cullen flinched as if she had yelled. Uncertainly, Evelyn moved a pawn, more to give herself something to do than to pursue any kind of strategy.

“You know that I was Knight Captain in Kirkwall. A templar does not rise to that rank accidentally.”

“I know that you turned against your superior to do what was right: to protect innocents.”

“Barely,” Cullen said curtly.

“I don’t understand.”

Cullen exhaled impatiently. “You’ve been given the abridged version of events: the bard’s version. There were actions I should have taken sooner. Things I was blind to when I should not have been. Much suffering could have been avoided if I had only...” he looked at her searchingly, “risen above my own prejudice sooner.” 

The conversation had taken an unexpected, confusing turn and Evelyn deeply regretted raising the matter at all. “We all see differently with the benefit of hindsight,” she tried to reassure him.

But there was no clawing back the serenity of earlier. Cullen let out a frustrated groan in response. He picked up one of his bishops. “This was different,” he said, and placed the chess piece down firmly on a new square.

“How so?”

“In your teasing, you painted a portrait of a templar who would lash out at the slightest suspicion, who distrusted mages unduly. Someone who would value pre-emptive action over fair judgements, and caution over justice, even if it destroyed lives.”

“I never meant to accuse you of anything. Then or now. It was just nonsense, honestly Cullen. I feel awful for bringing this up.”

“You shouldn’t,” he said firmly, watching impassively as she moved a pawn in a way that she suspected was against the rules but wasn’t well versed enough in them to be certain. “I’d rather you know, than be misled by a false idea of who I am.”

“You never gave me cause to behave the way I did. I was too hard on you.”

“Yet there _was_ cause, whether you knew it or not.” Evelyn leaned back from the table slightly. There was vitriol in his voice.

There was a lot she wanted to say. And there was much she wished to ask, endless questions so she could try to comprehend the two disparate versions of the man: the one she knew and cared for, and the impossible one he was alluding to… a stranger, who would have looked at her and seen only a potential threat to be treated cautiously and held at a distance.

Questions bubbled fretfully in her mind but when she looked at him and saw what his honesty had cost him, her questions faded away.

“It doesn’t matter to me who you were then.”

In response he only looked more burdened, shoulders lowering under an invisible weight. “You shouldn’t try to forgive what you don’t understand," he said in a low voice.

Evelyn reached across the table, placed her hand over his as he reached to select his queen. He froze, and fixed his gaze not on her face but where their hands joined. “Now is not the time to discuss it but I hope that _you_ understand that I will be willing to hear whatever you have to say, whenever that time comes.”

Cullen carefully lowered his queen, moving his hand away from her touch. “That is more than I deserve.”

Unsure of how to respond to that Evelyn attempted to plot her next move, studying the chess table with some considerable focus. “I’ve completely lost track of this game,” she said, laughing a little and then quickly finding she couldn’t stop. Cullen sat suddenly upright, and gave her a baffled look.  Finally, he laughed to.

“Shall we call it a draw?” he asked.

“I mean, obviously I was _about_ to win, but sure: a draw it is,” she said, affecting an aloof manner as he let out a derisive snort but restrained himself from disagreeing further.

“As you say Inquisitor,” he said, shaking his head slightly and smiling warmly at her.

Delighted he seemed more himself again, Evelyn tried hard to quash the tiny, fluttering unease that lingered in her gut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She is chipping away at those walls of his...if he would just stop being so stubborn...  
> I think I have majorly rewritten this chapter more times than any other in this fic so I am putting this up now to get rid of it so I can move on to editing and writing others. The full on fluff spectacular will be back soon too I promise. Thanks for reading as always! :)


	15. Skyhold: War Table Mission Initiated

Distracted by her tumultuous thoughts, Evelyn dressed quickly, tugging her clothes on roughly, not bothering with all the fastenings.

There was no plan. If she tried to plan anything, she would only lose her nerve. But Evelyn had woken inspired by a strange kind of reckless determination and had resolved to seize on it.

She pulled on her boots, getting them the wrong way around the first time and becoming irrationally frustrated over it, throwing the offending boot across the room before having to fetch it.

Perhaps the timing wasn’t the best, to attempt to broach the subject now? After all, she was leaving Skyhold tomorrow, as they were all scheduled to discuss in this coming meeting. She scrunched her hair up and out of her face carelessly, forgetting to brush it first. Or maybe that made now the perfect time. That way if things went poorly and she was humiliated, she wouldn’t have to face him for weeks…

No. That kind of thinking was counterproductive. Evelyn reprimanded herself for stooping to it as she left her quarters. If she submitted to her doubts again and failed to do this, the whole exasperating cycle would start over: she would arrive back at Skyhold and there would be valid reasons for her and Cullen to meet. Then they would begin to formulate more flimsy excuses to spend time together: the pointless revisions, the obviously fabricated ‘urgent’ questions and with those came the brief touches, the long looks, the undeniable tension and then…she would have to leave again and they would start from scratch at the same awkward distance the next time she returned.

Evelyn pushed through the door to Josephine’s study but it was empty: her advisors must already be gathered without her. She picked up her pace, still strategizing, but not about the forthcoming War Table meeting as she probably should be.

The next time she had him alone she was going to say…something. Drop all the clever wordplay, and the subtle hints, and the flirting-that-could-be-joking. Evelyn was going to make her growing feelings, inescapably clear to him whether he welcomed them or not. Yes, she was resolved, the very next time they were alone she would do it or else she would demand Dagna have ‘coward’ branded on her forehead.

Evelyn entered the War Room there he was: alone, smiling broadly at her and suspecting nothing. She froze and her stomach dropped in sudden panic. “Where are they?” she asked faintly.

“Josephine and Leliana? I don’t know. We can send a messenger out to them if you are in a hurry,” Cullen said, reaching for a piece of parchment.

This was…a bit sooner than she had expected but she had promised herself: the next time she was alone with him. It was now or never. “No, it’s fine. Good actually.” Cullen looked up at her curiously, confusion furrowing his brow. “I was hoping we could speak,” Evelyn finally said, conscious off the fact she was staring at him and somehow managing to sound much more grave than she had intended.

“Oh?” Cullen said, looking suddenly uneasy. He had either clued in to her intentions or thought she was about to have him executed. It was difficult to tell, based on her less than smooth start. “Speak?” he added, as if it was the first time in his life he had encountered the concept.

Evelyn swallowed. It was less than encouraging.

Still, there was no turning back. Conscious of the lack of time, Evelyn closed the door and got straight to the point. “I wanted to tell you…I enjoy spending time with you. More than enjoy it.” It was something. It was a start. It was what she should have told him weeks ago.

“It means a lot to hear you say that,” he said sincerely but his frown deepened nonetheless.

She let out an almost inaudible, impatient hiss. “But your face tells me you doubt it. Cullen, do you think me stupid?”

He looked at her with surprise. “Of course not.” She was circling the war table, moving gradually closer to him and he had noticed, shifting his weight uncomfortably from foot to foot.

“Then why do you act like I couldn’t possibly know my own mind?”

He turned his gaze and focused to the war table. Evelyn recognised that he was fortifying himself, mounting his internal defences. “There is much to take into consideration. I would not wish to be the cause of any regret –”

“This,” she gestured broadly between them, “whatever it is, has been going on since we met. I am not being rash about it, am I?”

“At times you can be very rash,” he reasoned.

That she couldn’t deny. “But not right now I’m not. Trust me if I were being rash this conversation would be going very differently.” It would be significantly less verbal for a start, Evelyn thought. If only she wasn’t so concerned about frightening him away. Maker give her strength!

“There is your position as Inquisitor to consider: I would not wish to compromise it.”

There were a lot of positions Evelyn _would_ like him to compromise her in. She tilted her head, examining him, chewing at her lip in frustration and then let out a sigh. “Never mind. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Just sometimes…I feel like I’m seeing something that isn’t there."

“You’re not,” Cullen said quickly. Surprised by this flicker of assurance from him, Evelyn’s breathe caught in her throat and she waited expectantly, heart thrumming, but he lacked the will or the courage to continue.

No, it was not a lack of courage, she could see that now. It was as if two parts of him were at war with one another. She could see how tense he was, gripping the edge of the table with one hand, and yet, he did not back away from her even as she moved closer still.

He was deeply conflicted and Evelyn was frankly sick of trying to find the words to reassure him. She reached out, put her hand against his cheek, used it to gently turn his face towards her. Cullen’s troubled expression immediately softened. He opened his mouth as if he were about to speak but said nothing. Evelyn took a final step towards him, so that there was only a hairsbreadth of space separating them. So close she could see the flecks of gold in his eyes. He swallowed. “Evelyn –” he started, his voice hoarse.

Voices from the corridor leading to the War Room. Josephine speaking animatedly and Leliana laughing. Evelyn withdrew her hand, fingertips brushing against stubble, and stepped away, retreating to the opposite end of the room. She watched as Cullen let out a groan and leant against the war table with both hands, rolling his shoulders and stretching out the tension in his neck.

As the meeting commenced, Evelyn remained flustered and tried to look busy reading notes that may as well have been in elvish for all she could comprehend. While Josephine was reeling off the names of nobles who had pledged allegiance to the Inquisition, Evelyn chanced a glance in Cullen’s direction only to see him quickly looking away from her. Knowing he had been caught, he titled his head to towards her, hint of a smile on his lips. It was Evelyn’s turn to look away smiling, the pink rising in her cheeks, stuttering when Leliana asked her a question.

 Maybe she was mistaken, maybe she was just dreaming it (because really the whole conversation couldn’t have gone much worse) but almost impossibly, that had felt like progress _._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know: I’m the worst! Worse than Jim! I wallow duly in my shame at treating you all thusly.


	16. Skyhold: War Table Mission Complete

_Some hours later…_

He didn’t seem surprised to see her when she knocked, placing down his quill without speaking, looking at her steadily across the room. Evelyn tried to convince herself that this was a good sign.

“Are you busy? Or is that a stupid question?” she asked, keeping her voice light, trying to sound casual.

“No more than usual, and your questions are never stupid.”

Evelyn let out a derisive snort. “Debatable. As long as I’m not disturbing you then?”

“Not at all.”

Evelyn rested her hands on her hips, felt uncomfortable, let her arms drop to her sides then folded them instead. “I wasn’t sure if you would be glad…I thought you may not wish to see me.”

“That would be a first,” he answered without hesitation.

Evelyn smiled despite herself before adopting a look of scrutiny. “Is this flattery because of the budget request you raised in the meeting?”

“It is not,” he said simply, his face still unreadable and his gaze direct. Evelyn’s neck suddenly felt very hot.

“Fresh air,” she told him. It was not a question. He raised an eyebrow at her and she made a beckoning motion at him. “Come on: you’re the one who told me you find those meetings suffocating. I know you must be longing for a walk.”

He laughed. “You remembered that?”

“Unless it has changed and you now love being locked in for hours discussing the minutiae of politics and intrigue? Because by all means, I can see to organising more meetings for you.”

“Maker have mercy. Don’t jest on the matter.”

“Then come and walk with me?” Evelyn left the ‘or else’ implied.

He looked at her, then back at his papers, and when they offered him no rescue, he relented and followed without further hesitation: a small victory. Somehow, Evelyn rationalised, a change of scene might be helpful, especially if it took him out of his own territory, with that defensive barricade of a desk between them.

They emerged blinking into the bright daylight, Cullen immediately taking a deep, grateful breath and stretching his arms. It was a clear day, and while the sun was warming, a crisp breeze made the flags hanging from the battlements twist and snap.

Cullen gave her a concerned sideways glance that she pretended not to notice. “I must apologise for leaving after the meeting without speaking to you.”

“Your exit was a little abrupt.”

He gave her another guilty look. “I needed a moment to think.”

“You’ve had a lot of moments to think already,” Evelyn told him dryly.

“I know.”

Evelyn looked out over the mountains, but quickly had to turn away, the glare from the snow making her eyes water. “Sometimes you act like you’re scared of me.”

“Your control over your capabilities as a mage is excellent. I have no concerns–”

“You know that isn’t what I mean,” she said, cutting him off.

“I suppose I do,” he said, with resignation.

“Then what is it? That is troubling you?”

“I an unaccustomed to the prospect of – I had not allowed myself to consider…”

Evelyn looked at him with an offended jerk of her head. “You’ve never once thought on it?” she asked impatiently.

“I do think on it, on you, to the point of distraction,” he answered quickly, and possibly with more honesty than he had intended judging by the blotches of red forming high on his cheeks.

It gave Evelyn a moment of pause and she failed to respond immediately, her flash of irritation dissipating into immediate embarrassment. Embarrassment and hope. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“It seemed impossible. You’re –” he stopped speaking as they passed a soldier who was keeping watch.  Cullen cleared his throat. “It’s a nice day,” he attempted, voice uncharacteristically high as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“What?” she replied, unimpressed by his heavy-handed attempt to change the topic. Oh no, he was not getting out of this that easily. She was going to settle this. _They_ were going to settle this.

And she was trying to be patient as they spoke. As she reasoned out his doubts with him, assured him for the thousandth time, watched him grapple with the unfamiliar concept of being judged and found worthy.

She was trying. Truly. But her inner voice was begging her to start screaming in his face at the top of her lungs and just shake him until he saw sense. Instead, she nodded thoughtfully as he spoke in broken sentences and only ventured so far as to touch his arm reassuringly.

Still he hesitated. This was beyond patience. This could take forever. If it ever happened at all.

No. _Something_ had to happen. Evelyn had had more than enough of his handsome face and amiable conversation. Of his endearing awkwardness when she flirted with him, and the unexpectedly charming responses he would occasionally catch her completely off-guard with. And she was sick of his sharp humour, and his hearty laugh that was rare but so contagious it would leave her giggling uncontrollably. And of his kindness, his thoughtfulness and genuine concern for her. Not for the Inquisitor: for _her_.

It wasn’t _fair_ that he should be allowed to be so bloody attractive. And it wasn’t fair that he should look at her the way she sometimes caught him doing and then just waltz off and leave her with nothing. Nothing! If this _thing_ between them wasn’t going anywhere, she was going to start making him wear a hessian sack over his head in her presence in an effort to preserve her sanity. Evelyn may be the Inquisitor but she was only human and there was only so much she could endure of that smirk he sometimes deployed with devastating effect, leaving her weak-kneed and slightly winded. Did he even realise what he was doing to her? Was it intentional? Was he a sadist?

No, he was stuttering way too much for sadist. Where was he going with this? Was he…?

Evelyn’s mind went momentarily blank, the inner monologue finally silenced and replaced by something like the sound of the ocean, a deafening rushing in her ears as Cullen moved towards her, backed her against the parapet, put his hands on her hips. She felt the heat of his palms even through the fabric of her tunic. Her stomach fluttered with anticipation as he…suddenly backed away, turning to scowl at the source of the interruption: some messenger that she intended to personally maim later with whatever weaponry was available. Her bare hands if it came to it. Evelyn’s racing heart could have blackened and shrivelled in disappointment. She swallowed a lump in her throat.

Could they not have one moment to speak privately without a someone bursting in and ruining it? Evelyn wasn’t particularly superstitious but maybe this was a sign. A sign to stop trying so hard. If he wouldn’t…

Maker he was kissing her. _He_ was kissing her? Her body rigid with shock, it took a moment for Evelyn to react before she melted against him, letting out an encouraging hum. Coming to her senses she ran her hands up his back, drawing him closer as he cradled her face in his hands, deepening the kiss.

Caught unprepared, she was breathless when he pulled away, her eyes fluttering open. Cullen dropped his hands, began to speak, hesitantly, his voice hoarse. Evelyn quickly sought to reassure him with another swift kiss, right on the scar across the corner of his lips. Finally, he returned her smile and she could see her own relief mirrored in his eyes. He gently held her by the waist, sighed her name like a prayer before resting his forehead against hers. Months of uncertainty and frustration felt worth it at last for even this one moment of blissful contentment. Evelyn closed her eyes again, leaned against him and held on tightly, trying to memorise it all.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this deviated enough from the game without deviating too much if that makes sense… I did replay it a few times, strictly for research purposes. I hope you continue to stick around - plenty more to come!


	17. Exalted Plains: Unwelcome Scrutiny

“Well, spit it out. You’re driving the rest of us mad. Madder than we were to begin with that is,” Dorian said as he joined her on the rocky outcrop she had scrambled up.

Evelyn, who had been examining the horizon hoping to spot the dragon rumoured to be in the area, gave him a confused look. “Spit what out?” she asked, startled by his arrival.

“Whatever the matter is,” he said deliberately slowly, as if it were obvious.

“Nothing’s the matter? I’m fine. I want to see the dragon.” 

“Why then, did Varric ask me to come and check you weren’t planning on pitching yourself off the edge of this cliff?”

“Excuse me?”

“You clearly want to talk about it or else you wouldn’t keep drawing attention to it.”

“What is drawing attention to _what_?”

“Your face.”

“Is?”

“Flickering between looking like you’re about to burst into song and then into tears.”

Evelyn folded her arms defensively. “My _face_? Seriously? Of all the crimes I have been accused of this must surely be the strangest! I’m guilty of thinking as we walk and that is suddenly intolerable for you all? Could it be too obvious to suggest that if my face is the cause of such distraction that you choose to look elsewhere and leave me alone?”

“And if I needed any further confirmation something was wrong, you’re getting flustered and babbling.”

“I’m not getting flustered! I’m getting annoyed at you for being…maddeningly nonsensical.”

Dorian tutted. “Red as a fresh boiled beetroot. Which I understand is considered a Fereldan delicacy actually.”

“I know what you’re trying to do. You’re trying to foster intrigue for your own amusement.”

“I’m not the one moping about like a lovelorn maiden from a ballad. That tends to invite comment you know.”

“I’m not _lovelorn_ ,” she dissolved into spluttering protests before attempting to compose herself. “Could anyone blame me for having a lot on my mind? The world is sort of ending in case it had escaped your notice.”

“No, I know what you look like when you’re thinking about Corypheus. It’s more…” he adjusted his expression into a kind of snarl which made Evelyn laugh despite herself. “This is something else. This is more…” he clasped his hands together and stared off into the distance wistfully, fluttering his eyelashes and completing the impression with a sigh.

“I don’t look like that! You’re being ridiculous.”

“Come now, you can share with _me_. Truthfully, I never joined the Inquisition to save the world from certain catastrophe. No, I joined it in the sole hope that I could counsel you on your relationships. I’m quite the expert in the field of romance. Helping people with their love life is both my enduring passion and my speciality.”

Evelyn narrowed her eyes at him. “Really?”

 “No,” Dorian said with a scoff for added emphasis. “Not in the slightest, couldn’t be less interested frankly. I am however, the only person on hand presently, so you can talk to me or you can continue to torment yourself in moody silence.” Dorian tutted. “And everyone else in the process.”

“Fine!” Evelyn chanced a look over her shoulder in the direction of the camp to ensure that no one else had decided to creep up and share in her embarrassment. “Fine,” she said again, more wearily.

“Really? That easy? I pray the fate on the Inquisition never rests on you not giving in to questioning.”

“I can tell you aren’t going to let this drop. Do you want to listen or not?”

“An interesting dichotomy of options,” he said, pondering with a few scratches of his chin. “Speak then,” he added quickly when he could see he was pushing his luck too far.

“It’s Cullen.”

“Well I knew it wasn’t knitting. Go on. What has he done?”

“He hasn’t done anything. Well he has. Kind of. In a manner of speaking…It was…He…”

“In the common tongue please? Or Tevene if you can manage it. Maybe just trying starting with a full sentence.”

“We…kissed.”

Dorian let out an unnecessarily exaggerated gasp then proceeded to clutch at his chest. “When you are yet unwed? _Scandalous_.”

“Oh, be serious.”

“Let me enjoy this even if you won’t. It has been a long time coming. A long, _long_ time.”

“We are taking things slowly,” Evelyn said curtly.

“Any slower and I would be concerned we were falling into another time warping rift.” Evelyn was not amused and Dorian spent some time studying her troubled expression. “But you are not pleased by this…liaison?”

“I am, of course I am. I just don’t know where to go next.”

“Perhaps Cassandra could lend you a copy of _Swords and Shields_ if you need a guide to the particulars? Not fine literature by any standard, but it could be instructive in this instance. Things get particularly detailed late in Volume Three when they’re hiding in a cave after being caught in a storm and -”

“Obviously that is not what I mean,” Evelyn said, frowning. “Just…it happened -”

“‘IT’ happened,” Dorian said with a snigger. “And how did _it_ happen? Did he suggest a course of action to you in a military brief ten days in advance? Was there a recommended field of engagement? Did he assign resources and specify required personnel?”

Evelyn, realising the conversation would not progress unless she forced it to, chose to ignore him. “We kissed and then not twelve hours later I was on horseback riding away and I didn’t even get a chance to speak to him again.”

Dorian rolled his eyes. “You two do enough speaking: roaming endlessly about the ramparts, hogging the chess table, cosying up over reports for hours on end. What could you possibly have left to talk about? Have you not yet covered every topic imaginable twice over?”

“Topics like whether he finds the idea of being with a mage repellent?”

“Ah.” Evelyn remained silent. “Obviously he doesn’t or…” Dorian gestured at her.

“I know. Or at least I think I do. Did. Perhaps he has been conflicted and now regrets it.” Evelyn sighed, her shoulders lifting and falling in resignation. “I could have accepted it easily if he had despised me from the very beginning but if he turned on me now…I don’t think I…”

“It would be wise, I think, to let the man speak for himself instead of putting words in his mouth from a hundred miles away.”

She let out a little self-conscious laugh. “I know. You’re right. I just wanted to ready myself for the worst-case scenario, in case it is reality.”

“In case he is a complete and utter fool you mean.”

Evelyn made a broad gesture with he hands. “There is more to it than that. If we had met at a different time, or under different circumstances…”

“He might have been herding you back into your cage and sliding you a bowl of cold gruel each evening you mean?”

Evelyn rolled her eyes. “Ostwick Circle wasn’t like that as I have told you. How did you even persuaded me to go into this? You wouldn’t understand: it’s complicated.”

“I understand complicated pretty well as it happens. ‘Complicated’ and I are more than acquainted.” Dorian snapped.  Evelyn flushed a little and gave him an apologetic look. “I just don’t think _this_ is as complicated as you are telling yourself.”

“If you say so,” she said, mollified but not entirely convinced.

“If it were but as obvious to the two of you as it is to _everyone_ else,” Dorian said quietly, turning his head away so his voice was lost in the wind.

“I didn’t catch that last bit.”

“I said that it will be nice when we do less walking. Walking leaves too much time for thinking. Fighting things is what you need to perk up,” he told her enthusiastically.

“You’ve been spending too much time with Bull! Honestly, fighting things as a cure-all?” Evelyn laughed after her initial shock.

“There: a laugh! Back to your old self.”

“Oh, _come on_! I was fine before and I am fine now. You’re making me seem pathetic.”

“No, you definitely were moping and I, with my usual grace, insight and tact, have rescued you from your self-destructive misery.”

“You are not taking credit for this! There is no ‘this’ to take credit for!”

Dorian feigned surprise. “You’re denying my almost supernatural ability to console the lost souls of this world? How extraordinary.”

“I’m not a lost soul. You’re the one making an issue out of all of this.”

“Dorian: hero of the miserable and meek. Saviour of the pitiful. Counsellor of the despairing.”

“Do you see this? How I am walking away from you now? Do you?”

“You’ll thank me one day. They all do!”

“I’m gone. I am away now! Stop talking _please_!”


End file.
